Night By Night
by AnneKB
Summary: Yep, it's a "How They Got Together" Story. Because we all have to write one someday.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Night By Night  
Rating: PG for now, but that could change later.  
Pairing: GSR  
Summary: Yep, it's a "How They Got Together" Story. Because we all have to write one someday.  
Spoilers: Last half of Season 5.  
Disclaimer: Still not mine. Sad but true.

Authors Note: I really wanted to write a "How They Got Together" story, and at first I had something shorter in mind. But somehow I didn't think these two could dance around for so long and then suddenly fall right in - I started to see it as a process, one night at a time.

The framework for this story is the last half of season five, so some of the dialogue may seem familiar... (and I certainly don't take credit for it) The prologue is from an earlier story I wrote, "Sara Smile." It just seemed like such a good place to start.

* * *

Prologue:

Greg had finally passed his proficiency – he'd needed an extra chance, but he'd done a good job, and he had every reason to be proud. It was Catherine's idea to bring him champagne to celebrate, and Nick and Warrick had contributed their "jello man." They all crowded into his office, and Sara handed Greg a glass of champagne as they all started toasting him.

Everyone was smiling. It was a great moment, and he indulged himself in just watching for a beat – they had all had a rough time recently, with the team separating, and Ecklie's promotion, but right now none of that seemed to matter.

More importantly, Sara was smiling.

He hadn't seen that in a long time – she hadn't had many reasons to smile.

He knew that most of that was his fault, but he wasn't sure what to do about it.

Right now she was happy, and he didn't care about the reasons why. He joined in by taking the glass Catherine handed him, and when his eyes met Sara's, she didn't look away.

Maybe he could make her happy. Maybe it wasn't too late.

* * *

Chapter 1:

_Well I ain't got the heart  
__To lose another fight  
__So until my ship comes in  
__I live night by night…  
- __Steely Dan, "Night By Night"_

It was well into the morning, well past the time his shift should have ended, but Gil Grissom was holed up in his office, hard at work on a pile of deferred paperwork.

Well – that's what anyone walking past would have thought. His hands were filling out paperwork, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.

He could still see Sara's smile – that beautiful smile, her real smile, the one that had become so rare he had despaired of ever seeing it again. This morning he'd been reminded of just how much he missed it.

How much he missed _her_.

Greg passing his final proficiency had put everyone in a good mood, including Grissom. It was a triumph for Greg, and it gave everyone a reason to celebrate in a time where there wasn't much else to be happy about.

And what, really, did he have to be happy about? Ecklie had split his team into pieces, after an investigation that proved to be nothing more than an excuse to humiliate him. He had sacrificed so much to his work – given it everything he had – and it meant nothing in the long run, not if the Ecklies of the world could still exercise their power over him for no good reason, humiliate him for the smallest thing, and break apart what he had spent so long trying to build.

He was happy to celebrate Greg's success, because at least someone was succeeding. He didn't feel he could take much credit for it, though – Sara had done much more to help Greg than he had. It seemed to be good for her, too – the teaching role fit her well. He could imagine her someday, shepherding a group of eager young students the way he once had, encouraging them and reveling in their achievements.

She had seemed pretty happy for Greg, that was certain.

Grissom sighed and closed the file he was working on, adding it to the "done" stack before pulling out yet another file full of reports to review. Damn paperwork.

Damn Sara and her smile. He couldn't get it out of his head.

He loved that smile.

He had almost lost that smile – and for what?

What the hell was the point of sacrificing everything for a career when forces outside of your control (Here the smirking face of Conrad Ecklie came to mind yet again) could do anything they wanted, regardless?

What would have happened if he had said yes to Sara?

Not just to her dinner invitation, but to everything she embodied – love, life, hope, a future?

He could have lost his team.

But that had happened anyway.

He could have been humiliated by the unctuous higher-ups who had nothing but politics on the brain.

That had happened, too.

He could have hurt Sara.

And he had done that, as well.

All the things he was afraid of losing – they were already gone, or close to being gone, and he had gained nothing for it.

Suddenly so many things seemed pointless to Grissom. Especially this damn paperwork.

He closed the file and returned it to the "to be completed" stack. His office, so often his sanctuary, suddenly felt like a prison he needed to escape.

He grabbed his jacket, closed his door behind him, and stepped out of the lab into the bright Nevada sunshine.

And for once it felt good.

He needed to think.

His townhouse just did not seem to be the right place to do it, however. It was like his office, once a sanctuary, now a place he needed to get away from. It was sterile, cold – empty. He had always believed he liked it that way.

Today, however, it was too empty, almost eerily so, but he had no place else to go. He took a beer from the refrigerator – he'd have liked something stronger, but he did have to go back to work in seven hours – and sat on the couch.

This couch, he thought, I really hate this couch. It's not even comfortable.

Why do I keep an uncomfortable couch?

Because it was comfortable, once, he thought – but it isn't anymore.

My life was comfortable, once, but it isn't anymore.

So why hang on to it?

He took another long swig of his beer. What was it he had always told his students?

If the evidence changes, the theory must also change.

The evidence had changed. It was time to formulate a new theory.

_What do I want?_

I need a new answer to that question, he thought. The old theory isn't working anymore.

His work, yes, it was still important. The science of it, the thrill of that was not lost. But his enthusiasm for everything that went with it – the politics, the competition – that was gone. He still loved teaching – watching Greg's success had proved that. He still wanted to be the night shift supervisor of the Las Vegas Crime Lab, yes, he wanted that.

But it was no longer enough.

That, he realized, was the heart of the matter, the crux of it, if you will.

His work was important.

It just couldn't be everything anymore. There had to be something else.

And this was the moment when Sara's smile came, unbidden, back to the forefront of his thoughts, along with the strange but familiar pang he felt whenever he thought of her.

_Sara. I want Sara._

He took another swig of his beer and chuckled to himself.

Who am I kidding, he thought, I've always wanted Sara. But it's too late now. That ship has certainly sailed.

But… was it too late to be a friend?

And could that be enough for him?

It would have to be. He had no chance at anything more, now – all he could have was friendship. Sara deserved someone better, someone who could give her everything… but they had once shared a connection. A friendship.

I can rebuild that, he thought, I can. It's important. If we can just… if we can rebuild the connection we once had… I can at least have that. I can be satisfied with that.

He took yet another swig and imagined their friendship. He imagined the day Sara would come to him and announce she'd finally found someone.

If we're friends, at least she'd tell me, he thought. I wouldn't have to hear about it from someone else. And I could be happy for her.

He pictured the children Sara would have with this man – who, in his mind, was young, handsome and taller than he was, a regular Adonis in a polo shirt (the lucky SOB) – he pictured them running up and calling him "Uncle Gil."

That might be all right, he thought, it would be nice to have nieces and nephews, of a sort. One of the bad things about being an only child – he would never really have nieces or nephews of his own.

It had to be better than being alone, living wrapped in a sterile townhouse, isolated from the world. Anything was better than this.

So. Time to approach this scientifically, he thought, downing the rest of his beer.

Hypothesis: I can be friends with Sara.

To prove the hypothesis, an experiment, a plan was needed.

He would have to open up – just a little. He would have to work to rebuild what he had destroyed. It would take time, certainly, and she might be hesitant, but nothing worth having was ever easy, or quick. It would be better to go slowly, to see what happened.

He breathed a deep sigh of relief.

He liked having a plan. He could sleep now. He had a plan.

But when he finally fell asleep, he dreamed again of Sara, telling him she had found someone. He dreamed of her pulling him close, her soft lips brushing against his, the feel of her skin under his fingertips.

"And it's you," She whispered between kisses, "It's you."

Meanwhile, in her apartment a few miles away, the subject of Grissom's newest experiment was trying to fall asleep – and failing miserably.

I should be in a good mood, Sara thought as she turned to stare at the ceiling, I should be happy today.

She'd gone out for breakfast with Nick, Warrick and Greg to celebrate the fact that he'd passed his final proficiency and was now a full fledged CSI. Even though they were happy for him, it was a quiet celebration – Nick and Warrick had to be back at work for the swing shift by four o'clock, so they'd called it a day early, much to Greg's dismay.

Sara was relieved, truth be told – she was exhausted. Not the kind of exhaustion that could be cured by sleep, though. This was something deeper, a kind of exhaustion that resided in her bones, in her heart.

She couldn't blame Grissom completely, not for this – she had certainly blamed him for enough of her heartaches over the past several years, but this had little to do with him. Since he'd arrived at the police station to pick her up after her near-DUI months before, he'd been treating her… well, like a human being, at least, which was a big improvement.

But of course, now there was Sofia.

She had seen her, perched on Grissom's desk as if she was suddenly his new best friend. Grissom didn't seem to mind, either.

Wonder what he would say if _she_ asked him to dinner, Sara thought bitterly, rolling back over on her side.

What made it all the more painful was the fact that Sofia's presence on the night shift was partially her fault. Ecklie had caught her off guard, startled her by revealing he knew everything about her near-arrest and counseling sessions. He'd brought back the humiliation of that night – her face burned just thinking about it. She hadn't been able to cover fast enough, and the resulting break-up of the team was proof that what she had said had been no help to Grissom or the lab.

No, she'd only managed to pluck Sofia from the dayshift and set her right on the edge of Grissom's desk.

Sara sighed.

It wasn't just Sofia and Grissom that kept her from sleeping, however, not this time. The small, pained faces of the Malton boys kept returning to her, haunting her, whenever she closed her eyes.

Just when you think you've beaten something, Sara thought.

_I thought I had this under control. I really did_.

Her counselor – Dr. Martin, a woman who was all grey hair and motherly smiles, who had pictures of her grandchildren decorating her office - had suggested she talk to her supervisor about her family, to give him some insight into why particular cases affected her as deeply as they did.

Sara had agreed, but silently she wondered how much a woman who put her happy family on display could understand about her situation. The sessions had been interesting, even somewhat helpful, but Sara was glad when Dr. Martin told her she no longer had to come back.

"Although," She'd said, "You certainly can come back, I think you'd benefit from further therapy. And it is covered by your insurance."

Sara smiled and told her she'd think about it.

And she had thought about it, for about three seconds.

Now, though, as she lay awake, she started reconsidering that decision.

Who knows, she thought, maybe I really do need therapy.

_Maybe I'm losing my mind. _

Sara groaned and rolled over again, flipping on to her opposite side, where she could see the glowing red display of her alarm clock.

Six hours left to try to sleep.

Somehow she knew it wasn't going to happen.

Sara arrived at work that night to find Greg in the break room, standing by the coffee maker.

"Hey, Sara," He gave her a cheery smile, "You're just in time for a fresh pot."

"Blue Hawaiian again?" Sara asked, and Greg shrugged.

"Not quite, this is different. Almost as good, but much cheaper."

"Learning to get by on your new salary?" Sara teased, and Greg smiled.

"Gotta economize somewhere," He said, taking a seat at the table and leaning back, "You look tired."

"Thanks, Greg." Sara said, "So do you."

"Oh, good, you started the coffee already."

They both looked up to see Sofia, who sat down with a heavy sigh.

"God," She continued, "How do you people do this?"

"Do what?" Sara asked.

"I'm just not adjusted to graveyard yet," Sofia complained, "It's too bright to sleep during the day."

"You get used to it," Greg said, taking the mug Sofia handed him. He poured a cup of coffee for her and then, without being asked, poured another for Sara, smiling while he did so.

"Oh, good, you're all early," Grissom said, bustling into the room with assignment slips in his hand, "Catherine's calling me already." He looked at Sofia and handed her one of the slips.

"I'm not actually on yet." She complained, and Grissom gave her a sympathetic look.

"I know. Swing's tapped out, they could really use your help. DB in a van, parking garage over on Tropicana. Warrick's already there."

Sofia groaned, took a long swig from her coffee cup, grabbed the assignment slip, and stood up.

"You owe me one," She said as she sidled past Grissom, passing unnecessarily close to him. He seemed to ignore it as his eyes focused intently (a little _too_ intently) on the assignment slip he was holding. Sara couldn't help but scowl at Sofia's retreating back. She hoped Greg and Grissom wouldn't notice.

"Greg," Grissom continued, handing him the other slip he held, "B&E out in Seven Hills. I think you can handle it solo."

"Solo?" Greg's face lit up, "Really?"

"Well," Grissom hesitated, "Circumstances being what they are, you're going to have to handle it solo."

"Why?"

"Because someone else in this room managed to max out on overtime for the month." He gave Sara a significant look, "And she is now confined to the lab."

It was Sara's turn to groan.

"You're kidding," She said, "Really? I lost track."

Grissom nodded, "Sorry. But you're not the only one. Ecklie has advised me that if I don't finish the stacks of paperwork piled on my desk, I won't see the outside of this lab again."

"So we're stuck here all night," Sara sighed, "Great."

"But it means I get to work solo." Greg sounded a little too excited.

"It's just a B&E, Greg," Sara snapped, "It's not a career case."

Greg looked a little wounded at her tone, and Sara felt a surge of guilt. She gave him an apologetic glance, which he seemed to accept.

"Career case or no," He said cheerfully, "I better get going. It's important to make a good impression on my first solo case."

"Don't let it go to your head, Greg," Grissom admonished, "Just process the scene."

Greg nodded and walked cheerfully out of the room, whistling softly to himself. Grissom watched him for a moment before turning back to Sara with a smile.

"Well, at least someone's enjoying their work," He said, but there was a wistful tone behind the joke, and Sara heard it.

"Don't you?" She asked, and Grissom frowned slightly, surprised not only by the question, but by the fact that Sara had asked it. He stopped and considered his answer.

A friend would be honest, he thought.

"Not always," He admitted quietly, meeting Sara's gaze. For a moment their eyes locked, and he was disappointed when she looked away.

"I certainly don't enjoy all this paperwork," He said, his voice lightening, "I'd better get started."

He headed off towards his office, leaving Sara alone in the break room.

Where did that come from? She thought. She could tell the breakup of the team was weighing heavily on his shoulders, but there was something else in his eyes, something she couldn't place. It was unsettling, somehow.

Sara pulled herself out of her chair and headed for the evidence locker. If she was going to be trapped in the lab for a few days, she might as well make herself useful.

Within a few hours, Sara had run out of things to do. She'd re-evaluated evidence from all of her open cases, and finished all of her paperwork – the only thing left to do was pull a cold case from Grissom's board, but somehow she couldn't muster the enthusiasm.

He had to know about her conversation with Ecklie. He deserved to know.

She decided there was no time like the present – when would she have another opportunity like this? Both of them stuck in the lab, without a pressing case to distract them…

Her counselor had said she should talk to her supervisor. She was only following Dr. Martin's advice.

Sara forced herself to put on the best smile she had and headed towards Grissom's office.

Sara – and his new resolution - had been dancing around the edges of Grissom's thoughts for most of the evening, even while he worked through his pile of paperwork, so the appearance of the real Sara in his doorway startled him a little.

"Hi," Sara said, knocking on his door frame, "You got a minute?"

Uh-oh. The last conversation she'd begun that way hadn't ended well.

"Sure," He replied, still trying to refocus his mind on the real, flesh and blood Sara before him. She stepped the rest of the way into his office, still smiling.

God, what a smile. What a distracting smile.

"We haven't really had a chance to talk since the staff changes," Sara continued, sitting down opposite him, "I uh… I wanted to let you know that I said some things to Ecklie that might have done the team a disservice."

There, she'd said it. But Grissom didn't look angry, just... accepting, as if he'd known it all along.

"Ecklie wanted to break up the team, and he did." He said. Was Sara blaming herself? For what?

"He asked me if you and I had had our post PEAP counseling session…" She began, and he realized what she meant. All right, a friend would be honest. A friend would apologize – especially since she was blaming herself when it was his fault they'd never followed through.

"And we didn't. Regardless, you should never have to cover for your boss, I'm sorry." He said.

"You've always been a little more than a boss to me." Sara said, startling him. "Why do you think I moved to Vegas?" She asked.

Wait, what? Where was this conversation going? He was still trying to process this statement when Sara continued.

"Look, I – I – I know our relationship has been complicated, it's probably my fault, it's probably definitely my fault."

Your fault? Oh, God, Sara, none of this is your fault, Grissom thought, but for some reason, his mouth and brain were no longer connecting.

"You uh – completed your counseling, right?" He finally said.

"Yeah. Yes." Sara nodded.

"And?" He asked, suddenly afraid to hear what she had to say.

"Let's just say that… sometimes I look for validation in inappropriate places." Sara said, considering her words carefully.

Oh. _Oh_.

Inappropriate places.

Well, damn.

He had to say something. She was looking at him, waiting for a response. He nodded in acknowledgement, but he still had to say something.

"Look…" He began, but still the words wouldn't come. "Let's… um…"

Let's turn back the clock.

Let's start all over.

Let's go somewhere where I'm not an inappropriate place and none of this has happened.

He wanted to say all of this, but...

"It's okay," Sara jumped in, nodding, "Okay. You know what, we did our session. Don't forget to document this for Ecklie." She smiled, but it was a smile with a hint of sadness, maybe… resignation?

"Right." He said.

"Thanks." Sara said. She gave him another smile before she rose and left him staring at the chair she had just vacated.

_Sometimes I look for validation in inappropriate places_.

So that's all it ever was. An inappropriate, schoolgirl crush.

He realized in that moment that he had always hoped it was more. What he felt for her… it was so powerful, frightening, it took his breath away.

But whatever she felt, she had left it behind. Dismissed it as "inappropriate." She was over it, past it, past him. It was for the best, but… he felt as if she'd blown out the tiny flame of hope that until that moment he hadn't realized he was still clinging to.

All that was left was the possibility of a friendship.

It wasn't enough, but it would have to be enough.

_We just have to start over_.

He sighed and returned to his paperwork.

Sara retreated to the locker room and sat down on the bench. It was suddenly hard to catch her breath.

I had a plan when I went in there, she thought, I don't know what happened. I was going to tell him about my conversation with Ecklie, and that was it.

_You've always been a little more than a boss to me_.

Way to stick your foot in your mouth, Sidle.

She should have known she was going to say something stupid when she began the conversation with "You got a minute?"

Sara sighed and rested her head in her hands for a moment as she reviewed the conversation.

Then she thought of something, and raised her head, staring at one of the locker doors as if the answer was written on the front.

_I wonder…what would he have said if I hadn't jumped in?_

"_Nobody said it was easy  
__No one ever said it would be this hard  
__Oh, take me back to the start…"  
__- Coldplay, "The Scientist"_


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Night By Night  
Rating: PG for now, but that could change later.  
Pairing: GSR  
Summary: Yep, it's a "How They Got Together" Story. Because we all have to write one someday.  
Spoilers: Last half of Season 5.  
Disclaimer: Still not mine. Sad but true.

Author's note: Much of the dialogue in this chapter is borrowed, as well. I don't take credit for it.  
And many, many thank yous to all who have reviewed! I really do appreciate them all.

Chapter 2

"_It takes love over gold  
__And mind over matter  
__To do what you do that you must  
__When the things you hold  
__Can fall and be shattered  
__Or run through your fingers like dust"  
- __Dire Straits, "Love Over Gold"_

Grissom had few opportunities over the next week to continue testing his hypothesis regarding Sara – they were too busy, and rarely saw each other, especially once the new month began and Sara's lab confinement ended. Catherine felt it her solemn duty to remind him that the graveyard shift's backlog was somewhere around a hundred cases, and Grissom tactfully decided not to remind her that swing shift had a seventy-eight case backlog of their own.

He had come in on his own time that day to help Catherine process the bodies of two women encased in tar – finally, an _interesting_ case to work, definitely worth losing a few hours of sleep for.

He would have told Catherine that her new supervisory position had gone straight to her head, too, had he not accidentally destroyed the skull of one of the bodies while trying to loosen the shroud of tar encasing it.

And then he made a fatal mistake, one that would bother him for a long time afterward.

It was not what a friend would do.

"You can make a nice mold from the impression." He told Catherine, after she'd prevented his escape from his error.

"I'm shorthanded as it is," She said, sounding frustrated.

"I think Sara just wrapped a case," He said, "If you need her, she's yours."

He had just handed Sara to Catherine – all that was missing was the silver platter.

So it was only fair, he concluded later, that he take responsibility for everything that happened after that.

The case Sara had just wrapped the morning before had put her in a pretty decent mood as her shift began – it was always a good feeling to solve a case, even if it wasn't anything especially high profile.

Greg was in the locker room as she walked in, wearing a suit, fussing with his hair.

"Wow. Look at you, Mr. Straight-Edge," Sara teased, looking over at him, "I did not know that your hair could do that."

"I look like a dork." Greg complained.

"No, no, no, you look like a pro, which is what you are." Sara countered. She turned to open her own locker, "Let me guess, prelim for Sherlock?" She asked.

"Yep."

"Uh huh. Who's your judge?"

"Studley… Anderson?" Greg sounded uncertain, but Sara knew the judge he was talking about, and she made a face.

"Eh. Not the sharpest tool in the shed," She hung her jacket in her locker, "Speak slowly, use simple terms… you're gonna nail it."

There was a sound behind her.

"Sara. You're mine tonight."

It was Catherine, who had paused in the doorway, and Sara nodded.

There was something off about the way Catherine had claimed possession of her, but Sara shook it off and followed her down the hallway.

Catherine filled her in on the specifics of the case while they made their way through the lab – the bodies of two women, encased in tar, were found at a construction site.

"The mold of the victim's face in the tar should be enough to make a good impression, maybe we can ID her from that."

"I think I can do that," Sara nodded as Catherine removed the cut piece of tar from an evidence bag.

"Great. I appreciate the help." Catherine hustled off, and Sara got to work.

The mold took longer than Sara expected, and once it was done, she found herself oddly proud of the finished product. She paged Catherine, Nick and Warrick, and sat in the layout room waiting for their arrival.

She had made a perfect mold of a woman's sad face, with closed eyes – Sara found herself wondering exactly what had happened to her, how she'd ended up covered in tar, buried in the desert. She was lost in thought when she heard the others approaching, but they paused in the doorway at the sight of her work, giving her a moment to recollect herself.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Jane Doe top." Sara announced.

"My God." Catherine breathed as she walked in the room.

"Nice job," Warrick commented, and Sara considered that high praise indeed, coming from a man who'd made more than a few molds of his own.

"Thanks." She said.

"Thank you, Sara," Catherine said as she sat down next to Sara, pulling the mold closer to her, "Doc Robbins told me that she had severe trauma to the skull, probably what killed her."

"Well, that would explain the blood David found on her shirt," Warrick added, "Mia's running DNA right now to find out if it matches the victim, or any suspects for that matter."

"Remember now, she had a broken jaw," Nick continued.

A broken jaw. Well, that explains part of it, Sara thought, women who end up with facial injuries are usually victims of domestic abuse.

Sara felt her skin start to crawl, and she shook her head slightly. Nick was still talking, and she forced herself to pay attention.

"That was 26 gauge stainless steel, it's used to surgically wire jawbones shut."

Sara looked down at the autopsy photos and x-rays in front of her.

"What's with the fingers?" She asked.

"Distal phalanges were cut off, both vics, both hands. I cast tool marks, looks like some kind of opposed blade tool, jagged on one side, smooth on the other." Catherine said.

"If it was pre-mortem, that would support torture," Nick noted.

"Yeah, but if it was post, they probably did it to conceal identity," Warrick countered.

"Hey, you guys still working on that mass grave theory?" Hodges appeared in the door, sounding smug as usual. Sara wondered exactly how Hodges could manage to be annoying without actually saying anything out of the ordinary – it was just ingrained in him, she supposed.

"Yeah…" Catherine prompted him.

"You know I like about flesh decomposing in soil? It's predictable. The constitiuent elements diffuse into the ground over time. The longer they're there, the lower the concentrations."

We all know that, Hodges – Sara bit her tongue to keep from commenting.

"I tested the soil samples Nick took from around each body. Curly Sue was on the bottom for at least five years, and flat Sally was on top for only two," Hodges finished. He headed back to the trace lab without waiting for a response.

"We've got a killer who digs a grave, dumps a body, covers it in tar, comes back three years later, digs again, and dumps another one on top of it?" Catherine sounded incredulous.

"Ten to one it's domestic abuse," Sara said, looking at the photos again, "Beat up, then shut up."

The broken jaw on their victim, and the fact that she'd had it surgically wired shut, gave Sara the idea to check out emergency rooms. She hadn't realized how hard it would be to look through file after file of photographs of women who'd been beaten.

"You hitting every ER in town?" One of the medical records clerks asked as she handed over a box of files.

"Seems like it," Sara sighed.

"These are all the jaw fractures that came in from two to three years ago. We don't get as many of these as we used to."

"Domestic violence laws have forced men to get smarter about their hitting," Sara replied, and the records clerk nodded and went back to her work.

Sara started going through this new set of files.

Her neck started to hurt.

Her head started to ache.

The disembodied voices of memory echoed through her head.

Her father's angry shouts, her mother's tears and screams…

She was a little girl again, hiding in the closet, waiting for it to be over, hoping it would all just go away. She could sense the hard floor against her knees, the smell of stale clothing, the muffled crashes, the sound of breaking glass.

Sara shuddered and tried to focus on her task.

But every one of the women looked like her mother.

She tried to look at the face of her Jane Doe.

_Think of her. She's not your mother_.

Finally she opened a file and her eyes landed on the face of a familiar woman.

She compared the photo to the photo of her mold – a perfect match.

_Svetlana Melton_, Sara read.

_We found you, Svetlana_.

Sara returned to the lab with the file, which included the name of Svetlana's husband, Andrew Melton. Svetlana had claimed that her husband had hit her in the face, the police came to the hospital, took her statement and arrested Andrew Melton the next day – but Svetlana was gone.

"Well, let's invite Mr. Melton for a talk," Catherine suggested once Sara had filled her in.

"Let's see if he knows where his wife is." Sara agreed, channeling her still shaky nerves into sarcasm.

Melton agreed to come down to PD that morning – he was a small man, older, with a thin face and a weary, angry look to him. He reminded Sara of her father, even though the two looked nothing alike – her father had been tall, dark haired, maybe even handsome, but he wore the same weary, angry look on his face so much of the time.

Melton showed up with a young Asian woman. She wore a skimpy dress and clung to his arm – she looked absolutely terrified when he left her in the waiting room.

"Have a seat, Mr. Melton." Catherine said.

Sara was aware she was glaring at the man, but she couldn't help it. She didn't want to help it.

"I married June about a year after Svetlana left," Melton explained, even though no one had asked for an explanation.

Sure you did, Sara thought, you had to trade her in. She glanced over at Catherine, who looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"And when was the last time that you saw Svetlana?" Catherine asked.

"It was… about two years ago. She didn't come home one day. Next thing I know, the cops are knocking down my door. I thought that something had happened to her, but they were there to arrest me… for hitting her."

"Are you saying that you didn't?" Sara asked.

_Like hell you didn't._

"We were married for three years, I never hit her." He said it slowly, reasonably, as if he didn't understand why anyone would believe that he would.

"Why would she lie?"

"I don't know."

Sara held his gaze, barely aware that she was still glaring at the man. He still reminded her of her father.

"And then what happened?" Catherine asked.

"After that, I was done. I went looking for her to sign divorce papers, but it was like she fell off the face of the earth."

"Or got buried a few feet under it."

The look Catherine gave Sara made her dimly aware that she was going too far, but somehow she couldn't stop herself.

"Look, I took out ads in the newspaper every day for a month, she never responded."

"Yet you didn't file a missing person's report." Catherine noted, quietly, evenly.

"I'd been accused of abuse, how would that have looked?"

"You seem to care a lot about the way things look, Mr. Melton." Sara said, unable to hide her contempt.

_You evil little son of a bitch._

"Well, we're going to need a list of Svetlana's friends and family." Catherine said.

"She didn't have any," Melton answered, too quickly.

"She spawned from nothingness." Sara shot back. Typical abuser – thinks his victim has no life outside of him. Doesn't want her to.

"Her parents died in some kind of industrial accident, in Odessa." Melton replied.

"Russia?" Catherine asked.

"Yeah," Melton answered.

_You're both idiots. Odessa is in the Ukraine and neither of you care. You knew nothing about her._

"How did the two of you meet?" Catherine asked.

"Through an agency."

"Svetlana was a mail-order bride?" Sara wasn't entirely surprised – how many women would jump at the chance to be abused by this little…

"We were introduced through an agency."

"So what happened, the Russian agency denied your application for another wife? Or you just lost your taste for white meat? Too… tough?"

The way Catherine hid one of her hands under her hair let Sara know she had definitely gone too far, but she no longer cared. It was obvious no one cared about Svetlana, why should she care what she said?

"You know what, Lady? I am not going to feel bad about my decision. I dated American women. Like you. They don't want to be anyone's wife, or mother." His voice dripped with anger and contempt, and Sara looked over at Catherine, who simply looked as if she was regretting bringing Sara into the interrogation.

"You mention the word domestic and they're done with you. It's nice to be needed," Here Melton looked over at his new wife, sitting hunched over in the waiting room, "Not resented."

"Yeah, I find isolation and dependency really sexy, too," Sara couldn't keep the sarcasm from her voice, didn't even try.

"You can think whatever you want," Melton stood and left the room, stopping only for a moment to collect his new wife on the way out.

Catherine looked over at Sara, stunned.

"What?" Sara asked after a few moments of silence.

"Nothing. Let's go." Catherine shook her head, and Sara knew she was angry.

She still didn't care.

The trip back to the lab was quiet at first.

"He's beating her, you know that." Sara said as they returned to the lab.

"No, I don't know that," Catherine replied as she pushed the door open.

"You have to see it. He killed the first wife. We need to do something."

"What are we supposed to do?" Catherine asked.

"Look, all I'm asking is to have a black and white do regular welfare checks," Sara said, trying to be reasonable in the face of Catherine's utter disregard for this poor woman.

_Maybe if someone had checked up on Svetlana…_

_Or Kaye Shelton…_

_Or my mother…_

"If the wife asked for help."

"Well, that's kind of hard to do when you don't speak English and you're a sex slave. I'm sure she doesn't know her rights."

"You can't arrest someone for marrying the wrong person." Catherine said.

"You would know."

Sara didn't respond to the look Catherine gave her at this statement – she barely saw it.

_You think you would be more sensitive. It's not like Eddie treated you that well._

"If the guy's an abuser, if he killed his first wife, we will build a case, and we will nail him."

_If, if, if – how can you think he's not? How can you think he didn't do it?_

"And in the meantime he can just keep using her as a punching bag."

"Sara, I was there, there wasn't a mark on her."

_Now you're a supervisor, you think you can just dismiss me? _

"Not that we could see, Catherine," Sara replied, emphasizing Catherine's name.

Catherine stopped walking and turned to look at Sara, lowering her voice despite the fact that she was growing angry. Sara could see the flash in Catherine's eyes, and she met it with a glare of her own.

"You know, every time we get a case with a hint of domestic violence or abuse, you go off the deep end. What is your problem?"

The next words flowed out of Sara before she had a chance to think about them, before she had a chance to bite them back, before she spotted Conrad Ecklie standing just a few feet away in the hallway, "Yeah, I probably do, and you let your sexuality cloud your judgment about men and I'm going to go over your head!"

"Sidle!"

_Oh, shit_.

"Get in my office! Now!"

Sara followed Ecklie into his office, but she wasn't the least bit ready to apologize for anything. Besides, how could anyone take Ecklie seriously? The man couldn't investigate his way out of a closet, and yet he'd humiliated Grissom… and the rest of the lab.

"You are a law enforcement officer, and a representative of this city, that means, I expect you to conduct yourself in an appropriate manner, in and away from this lab."

_Oh, please. Spare me_.

"You know what, if this is going to be one of your for the good of the lab speeches, don't bother, I've heard them." Ecklie sat at his desk and looked up at her.

"Just take a seat," He said.

_Like hell_.

He kept talking anyway.

"Willows is a supervisor, that means you treat her with respect. Insulting her in front of co-workers…"

_Catherine shouldn't _be _a supervisor_.

"She's not my supervisor."

"All right, your superior. Sara, you berate witnesses, you disrespect the people you work with, you luck your way out of a DUI, take a look, you've got half a dozen complaints in your jacket."

Ecklie tossed her personnel file at her – her confidential personnel file, as if that really mattered anymore, "And if Grissom really documented your performance, there'd probably be a dozen more. That's not the kind of person I want in my lab."

_This shouldn't be your lab._

_And it's time someone said so_.

"The only reason this is your lab is because Grissom doesn't kiss ass. You couldn't hack it in the field, so you fail your way up, you break up our team, and now you just hang out in the hallways waiting for one of us to screw up."

Well, that did it.

"Sidle, you're on one week suspension without pay."

"Great."

"And when you get back, you're apologizing to Catherine."

Sara scoffed at the thought.

"No I'm not." She said before she stormed out the door.

Grissom's cell phone rang for the third time in an hour while he was working with Greg, logging evidence from the scene they'd just returned from - a homeless man found behind a Fremont Street hotel – possibly a murder, definitely suspicious circumstances.

"You gonna answer that this time?" Greg asked while Grissom looked at the caller ID.

Ecklie.

Grissom slipped the phone back in his pocket.

"No, we're busy," He said, returning to the evidence log. He ignored Greg's smile.

"Grissom." Catherine appeared in the doorway, and he immediately knew something was wrong. She was in a full fury, an eye-flashing, hands-on-hips, hair-tossing fury, something he'd seen before and preferred to avoid.

"I'm busy at the moment, Catherine." He said.

"This can't wait." She said, "Your office. Now."

He looked up and met Catherine's gaze with a glare that would have struck fear into the heart of most of the lab employees, including Greg, but had no effect on Catherine, who simply turned and walked off towards his office.

"She doesn't sound too happy," Greg sounded uncertain.

"Finish logging the clothing and get it to DNA," Grissom said, "Follow up with David to see when he's going to be able to do the autopsy, I know they're backed up."

Greg nodded, and Grissom removed his gloves with a sigh and followed Catherine to his office.

Catherine was waiting at the door, and as soon as he entered she followed him in and shut the door behind them – a little too forcefully.

"What is going on?" He asked as he sat down, startled by her door slam.

"Sara." Catherine hissed, and he felt a little ball of dread growing in his stomach.

_Oh, no_.

Catherine sat in the chair opposite him with a flounce, and he suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. The woman really did have a dramatic streak.

"What happened?" He asked, trying to keep his tone even.

"Didn't Ecklie tell you?" She asked.

"Is that why he was calling me?"

Catherine didn't bother suppressing any urge to roll her eyes.

"That's your problem, Gil," She said, "You completely ignore…"

"What happened, Catherine?" He asked again, cutting her off. She narrowed her eyes at being interrupted.

"She has lost it," Catherine snapped, "She lost it with a suspect and insulted me in front of several other employees. I don't even know what she said to Ecklie, but he suspended her for a week."

"Wait, what? What did she say?" Grissom sat up straighter. The ball of dread grew bigger.

"Apparently my sexuality clouds my judgment about men," Catherine repeated, her words dripping with sarcasm. Grissom decided it was better not to comment on that statement.

"Why did Ecklie suspend her without consulting me?" He said.

"Because you've got your head up your…"

Grissom stopped her with a look.

"He didn't have to consult you, Gil, he's assistant director of the lab, and her behavior was completely inappropriate. Besides, you haven't answered your phone, maybe he _was_ trying to consult you."

Somehow Grissom doubted that.

And as if on cue, his phone rang again.

Ecklie. Again. This time he had to answer.

"Grissom."

"We have to talk, Gil."

"So I've heard."

"My office. Five minutes."

"All right."

He sighed as he hung up the phone.

"Ecklie?" Catherine asked. He nodded.

"You have to talk to her, Gil," Catherine said, "She cannot go on like this. She's going to expose the lab to…"

"Is that all you care about, Catherine?" He said, startling both of them, "There has to be a reason Sara would behave like this. It's not like her."

"Oh, it is exactly like her," Catherine retorted, "You just don't see it. She flips out every time we get a domestic violence or abuse case. If you would open your eyes once in a while, you might realize that."

She stood and walked to the door, turning to look at him before she opened it.

"You have to take care of this… of her." She said before she left.

Grissom closed his eyes for a moment to regain his composure. That ball of dread just kept getting bigger.

And it wasn't because Catherine was flouncing around the lab trying to avenge her injured pride, that he could deal with. He'd seen it before, she'd get over it.

He'd also seen Sara lose her temper with a suspect before – the Kaye Shelton case. The suspect had shoved her hand and Grissom had to restrain her or she would have torn the man to pieces. In the end, Grissom remembered, he wanted to convict the man not just for Kaye, but for Sara as well.

And Kaye Shelton had been a victim of domestic abuse, too.

He had to go meet with Ecklie.

He had to meet with Conrad Ecklie and discuss Sara.

He shook his head – ever so slightly – and headed for Ecklie's office.

"I want her fired. Immediately."

"Be reasonable, Conrad," Grissom began, but Ecklie cut him off.

"I am being reasonable, Gil. She's not someone I want working here."

"Let me talk to her," Grissom suggested, "There must be a reason."

"I don't see any way you can justify her insubordination."

"She's a good CSI, Conrad. She's one of the best I've ever known."

This earned him a derisive snort from Ecklie, who leaned back in his chair and turned around to face the shelves that lined his office wall.

"I don't care about her solve rate," He said, "She's not worth the hassle."

Grissom felt his entire body give an involuntary shake.

_You don't have any idea how much she's worth_.

He took a deep breath to control his nerves, waiting until he was sure he could respond calmly.

"I'd like to have a chance to speak with her, Conrad," He said, his voice low and quiet.

"Go ahead, speak to her. Then fire her."

Grissom turned and walked slowly out of the office. He walked past his own office, straight out the door, never varying his pace. He walked straight to his car and had driven four blocks before his pulse slowed to normal.

"Goddamn bastard." He said it out loud, surprising himself by yielding to the impulse.

But it felt good to say it.

Sara thought of a hundred different places to go after she left the lab.

She was still shaking with anger, every nerve set on edge, raw and ragged.

She didn't care that she might have just ruined her career.

_It was probably ruined anyway, long ago_.

She could blow what cash she had left on the nickel slots at the Sahara, or the blackjack tables at the Venetian, depending on how much cash she still had. She wasn't sure.

She could drink herself into complete oblivion at a bar – plenty of them to choose from.

She could drive to San Francisco and get the hell out of Vegas, once and for all.

How long did it take to drive to San Francisco, anyway? She suddenly had trouble remembering.

In the end, she stopped at the Gas-n-Go for a six pack of beer – she'd stopped keeping it in the house after her near-DUI – and went back to her apartment.

Really, she had nowhere else to go.

He'd been to Sara's apartment once before – the morning after he brought her home from the police station after she'd been arrested. She hadn't been in any shape to talk the night before, so he'd waited until the morning to discuss the consequences of what had happened.

Now he was back.

Why couldn't he be here under better circumstances?

He raised his hand to knock, then drew it back.

He imagined those better circumstances.

He imagined dropping by with takeout and a movie, and spending the evening on the couch, just the two of them. He could almost hear Sara laughing.

He imagined coming by to take her out to dinner. She would wear a dress, maybe, he had never seen her in a dress – and he would take her dancing, open doors for her, take her arm and everyone would know this stunning woman was with him.

He imagined coming back after that dinner. Being invited inside.

He raised his hand again, shaking the fantasies from his mind. This was not the time, or the place. Those old daydreams were useless now, he had to refocus. Right now there were more pressing issues.

He knocked on the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Night By Night  
Rating: PG for now, but that could change later.  
Pairing: GSR  
Summary: Yep, it's a "How They Got Together" Story. Because we all have to write one someday.  
Spoilers: Last half of Season 5.  
Disclaimer: Still not mine. Sad but true.

A/N: A belated thank you to heavensends for her beta work on chapter 2. And again, a big thank you to everyone who has reviewed.

* * *

Chapter 3

_"I'm not a child anymore  
__I'm tall enough to reach for the stars  
__I'm old enough to love you from afar"  
__- Fleetwood Mac, "Beautiful Child"_

Sara had changed out of her work clothes, and she was sitting at her desk, sipping her beer. She had started writing a letter of resignation.

At least, that had been her initial idea, but she'd stopped halfway into the first sentence.

If she resigned, where would she go?

She'd considered going back to San Francisco months before, even called her old supervisor, John, at the San Francisco PD – only to find out that he had left and taken a teaching job at Berkeley. The new head of the SFPD Crime Lab was someone they'd brought in from Philadelphia or Pittsburgh or Cleveland, someplace like that, someone who didn't know her and didn't care, regardless.

"I'd recommend you, Sara, but don't expect it to carry much weight. As it is, he's slashed the budgets, I don't think he's interested in hiring anyone new, regardless of their credentials. He hasn't in about a year. Sorry, Sara, I don't know what to tell you."

For the past four years Sara had been clinging to the idea of returning home. Whenever things finally became intolerable in Vegas, whenever she was finally ready to give up on Grissom, she could just… go home. She hadn't bothered to think about the fact that life there may have moved on without her. After that conversation with John, she realized that there might not be anything left in San Francisco to go back to. It had been over four years, after all. Many of her old friends and colleagues had moved on while she was in Las Vegas, while she imagined on some level that they were frozen in stasis, waiting for her.

But of course they weren't.

So if she resigned, where would she go? She had no idea.

She felt like a kid again, with no home but nowhere else to run to.

Besides, she really couldn't think of what to write down, where to begin. She was staring at that half-written sentence when she heard the knock on the door.

* * *

Grissom was relieved when Sara opened the door – for a moment, he'd imagined that she might have taken off, even though her car was parked in the lot of her building. But here she was, looking relatively normal, giving him a sardonic smile.

"Well," She sighed, without even saying hello, "If you're here, it can't be good."

"Can I come in?" He asked. Sara stepped back from the door and gestured him inside.

He looked around for a second, taking in the apartment. Sara's desk in the corner, cluttered yet somehow organized, with her police scanner taking up nearly a third of the available space. A row of shelves behind the desk held her stereo, several large, thick art books – art books? – and a few photographs.

He recognized two framed insect specimens, perched on a shelf above the desk. One he'd given her back in San Francisco as a thank you gift – for showing him around the city, ostensibly, but really just because she was… well, because she was Sara. He'd given her the other as a belated birthday gift, just after she'd arrived in Vegas. He remembered her bright smile when she'd opened it.

A few other things he didn't recognize – a sculpture of the Buddha, some odd jars, more books on the coffee table, along with a half-eaten orange and a half-finished game of solitaire, real cards.

The sight of the cards sent a familiar warmth through him.

He thought he was the only person who still played solitaire with real cards.

"Wanna ask me if I'm drunk?" Sara asked, holding up the bottle of beer in her hand.

She wasn't drunk – the bottle was barely half empty. He had no way of knowing with certainty how many she had before he arrived, but the absence of alcohol on her breath told him that this beer was more than likely the first.

"We both know that's not your problem," He said. Sara's apartment really was small – smaller than he remembered – and he felt almost uncomfortable at being so close to Sara in such a personal setting. He turned to face her.

"I spoke to Catherine," He said.

"Ecklie?"

"He wants me to fire you."

_Not that I have any intention of doing so._

Sara sighed heavily, as if she'd known this was coming.

"I figured. Can I get you anything?"

"Sure," He replied, "An explanation."

"I… lost my temper," Sara shook her head.

That_ is not an explanation._

"That seems to be happening quite a bit," He answered, "Do you know why?"

"What difference does it make? I'm still fired."

_That is also not an answer. _

"It makes a difference to me," He said.

_Come on, Sara, talk to me. I'm trying to be a friend, here. Talk to me. You used to._

"I have a problem with authority," Sara began, sounding as if she were repeating something her counselor had said, "I choose men who are emotionally unavailable," Here she gestured towards him.

_All right, I deserved that. But when did this become about me?_

"…I'm self destructive, all of the above?" Sara finished, with a weariness in her voice.

What to say to that? He searched for a second, found nothing, and fell back on a quote.

"Have you ever gone a week without a rationalization?" Sara gave him a quick head shake of irritation, prompting him to continue, "It's from The Big Chill," He explained, "One of the characters explaining a basic fact of life, that rationalizations are more important to us than… sex, even."

"I am not rationalizing anything. I crossed the line with Catherine, and I was… insubordinate to Ecklie," Sara sat down on a chair, facing him, looking up at him for a moment. He wanted to hold her gaze, but she looked down again.

"Why?" He asked.

"Leave it alone," Sara shook her head and looked away.

_No. I've walked away too many times. Last time I left it alone I ended up picking you up at the police station._

"No, Sara," He said evenly. Sara's eyes shot back towards him.

"What do you want from me?" She asked.

"I want to know why you're so angry," He replied, slowly, saying the first words that came to mind. Sara stared at him for a long moment, as if she were trying to decide whether to tell him or not.

"Sit down," She said, gesturing towards the couch.

He sat. Sara pulled herself back into her chair, perching her feet on the coffee table. She wrapped her arms around her knees, and instinctively he leaned towards her.

"You really want to know?" She asked. Her voice sounded off, as if someone different was in her body. She wasn't looking at him, just in his direction, as if she didn't want to meet his eyes.

"Yes." He said.

"It's funny," Sara began, "The things that you remember and the things that you don't, you know?"

He waited, trying to make sense out of what she was saying.

"There was a smell of iron in the air… cast off on the bedroom wall… there was this young cop puking his guts… I don't remember the woman who took me into foster care."

Here Sara looked up at him, with a slight shake of her head.

A murder. A family member. Foster care? Why? Who?

His mind spun for a moment, trying to put together the puzzle from the scattered pieces Sara was handing him.

"I can't remember her name," Sara continued, "Which is strange, you know, because… I couldn't let go of her hand."

"Well… the mind has it's filters," He stumbled through the words. He felt clueless, inadequate, helpless.

"I do remember the looks. I became the girl who's father was stabbed to death."

_Your father?__ Oh, God – your father was killed? Stabbed to death? Oh, God, Sara._

He could see a much younger Sara, tall and awkward and shy, her classmates staring at her, whispering behind raised hands. The vision was so vivid he wondered for a moment if it were a memory, rather than just imagination.

"Do you think there's a murder gene?" Sara asked, tears rising in her eyes.

"I don't believe that genes are a predictor of violent behavior," He said, still not sure what to say.

"You wouldn't know that in my house. The fights… the yelling, the trips to the hospital… I thought it was the way that everybody lived. When my mother… killed my father, I found out that it wasn't."

_Oh, God._

_Sara._

Sara was clearly trying not to cry, but it wasn't working. She looked away from him, raising her face to the ceiling, sniffling.

_Oh, God, Sara._

He couldn't think of any more words.

What words were there for this? What do you say to a girl who lived through the murder of her father… by her own mother?

What do you say to a girl who – and he knew this, she didn't need to say so – witnessed horrible abuse, maybe even endured it herself?

What could he say to any of this?

He wanted to do something.

He wanted to take Sara – who was sobbing, now, with her hand covering her face – into his arms and do whatever he could to make it better.

Even though he knew that was impossible.

He reached out for Sara's hand, grasping it tightly in his own.

Even that felt like nothing, such a small gesture, a drop of water in an effort to put out a raging inferno.

It wasn't enough, he could never do enough.

* * *

He let her cry for a few minutes, channeling his urge to hold her into an ever-tighter clasp of her hand, until he wondered why he was fighting the urge at all. He was about to move towards her when she pulled her hand from his and stood up. She wrapped her arms around her waist – almost as if she was trying to piece herself back together – and walked over to the kitchen.

"I'm sorry," She sniffled, "I'm just… I guess this is my week to just let it all out, huh?" She wiped at her eyes, willing herself to stop crying.

"Sara," He began, with no idea of what he planned to say after her name, "Honey…"

The word had slipped out, and it did not have the desired effect – Sara lost her battle with her tears and began sobbing again.

This time he did not bother fighting his instincts. He stood and took her into his arms, holding her as tightly as he dared to. He felt her body stiffen slightly at the initial contact, but after a moment she leaned into him for support.

A small part of his brain was tugging at him, reminding him that he had Sara _in his arms_, but he was too concerned to pay much attention. He was focused on the way Sara's body shook, the feel of her tears soaking into his shirt, the way his own heart cracked a little with each sob.

_Oh, God, Sara_.

He pulled her in closer, wishing he knew the perfect thing to say.

Hell, at this moment, he would have settled for just knowing the right thing to say, or anything to say, because he was once again at a complete loss for words.

Sara raised her head and pushed back against him, and he loosened his grasp so she could look up at him – but he did not want to let her go.

So he didn't, not right away.

"Grissom," Sara said as she attempted to pull away, "I'm okay."

"You sure?" He asked, meeting her eyes.

"Yeah," Sara looked away from him, and he let her go.

"I, uh… my counselor told me I should tell you about… my family," Sara said, "But I didn't know how to, and there was just never a good time, and I…"

"No, you don't…"

"No, Grissom," Sara sounded irritated, "Let me do this."

He lapsed into silence and waited for Sara to continue.

"I don't like telling people," Sara said, "Because of the looks, you know? People look at you differently once they find out. Like I'm damaged goods, or something, like I might go off at any moment."

She sat back down, looking down at her hands.

"I don't think…" He began, then paused.

"It's okay," Sara interrupted, and he looked down at her.

"No, Sara," He said, "Now you have to let me finish. Please."

Something in the tone of his voice stopped her cold – the words could have sounded harsh, but his voice was gentle.

"I… I think we've dealt with this," He said, finally, after a long and fruitless search for words.

"Dealt with what?" Sara asked.

"What happened today. At the lab."

"We've dealt with it?" Sara was confused, "How have we dealt with it?"

"Don't do it again?" He said, and Sara almost laughed in spite of herself. He smiled.

"And when something is bothering you, talk to me? Instead of exploding at Catherine and Ecklie?"

"Talk to you?" Sara asked, her humor turning to irritation, "Should I request a meeting?"

"I didn't mean that as your supervisor," He said, "I meant that as a friend."

"Oh, so we're trying to put on our friend hat now," Sara said. Her sarcasm, however slight, hurt him.

"Yes, Sara, I'm trying to be your friend." He said, and Sara felt a surge of guilt at the look in his eyes.

"Why now?" She asked. He didn't have any right to look at her like that.

"Why now?" She repeated, "You haven't exactly been a friend to me for a long time, Grissom. And I don't need your…"

"What?"

"… pity." Sara finished, and he shook his head.

"No, Sara," He said, "That's not it, not at all. I know I haven't been a friend to you, I'd like to change that. And I made that decision before today."

Sara cocked her head as she looked at him, evaluating the seriousness in his eyes.

"All right," She said after a long pause.

"All right?"

"I'll talk to you."

Grissom nodded his approval, and gave Sara a small smile. They sat in silence for a few more minutes before Grissom stood, hesitantly.

"I suppose I should get back and tell Ecklie I'm not firing you." He said.

"That sounds like a fun conversation." Sara said, raising an eyebrow. Grissom made a face.

"I should go," he said again, but hesitated.

He didn't want to leave her.

"Yeah, you probably should." Sara didn't want him to leave, either, but she didn't know what to say to keep him there. Grissom nodded and walked towards the door, and Sara went to open it for him.

"I'll give you a call later," He said. Sara turned to look at him, her hand still holding the doorknob, her face asking "why?"

"To let you know how it went," He supplied, and Sara nodded. He stepped outside and gave Sara a small nod before turning to walk down the stairs.

Sara closed the door behind him and leaned against it. It was hard to catch her breath. She felt tears rising to her eyes again, but she fought them back.

_Something has happened here_, she thought, _something big has changed… but I have no idea what it is._

* * *

Grissom was on his way back to the lab when he received the call – Ecklie again. He let it go to voicemail, then listened to the message.

"Grissom, we need to talk about Sidle. I'm in Catherine's office. Get here ASAP."

He deleted the message, but decided now was as good a time as any. He pulled into the lab's parking lot and headed for Catherine's office.

Catherine and Ecklie were sitting at her desk, leaning over a file. On any other day he might have observed how cozy they looked together, the two of them, suddenly friends after so many years at each other's throats. Today, however, he filed the scene in his memory for later reference and interrupted them.

"You wanted to talk to me about Sara?"

"I haven't received her disciplinary action, what's the hold up?"

_You're in a rush to get rid of her, aren't you? But I'm not going to do it._

"Well, I'm not firing her." He said, getting the expected reaction from Ecklie – an angry glare.

"What action are you taking?" Catherine asked.

"I've taken it." He said, in a voice that should have let Catherine know he was not in a mood to be questioned.

"I thought I was clear." Ecklie said.

"Oh, you were. Now let me be clear. Sara's behavior is a direct result of my management."

_This is my fault, my responsibility._

_I handed her to Catherine._

_I've never been the friend she deserved._

_Now I'm going to start making up for it. _

"So I should fire you." Ecklie shot back.

Grissom shook his head, "But you won't."

Ecklie didn't have the stones to fire him, nor did he have the authority, and Grissom knew it.

"Look, Gil… I've been there, we're human, we get attached to people, we try to fix their problems, it doesn't work."

"She's a great criminalist, Conrad, and I need her."

_And you need to shut up. You have no idea what you're talking about._

"I'm sure you do. You know what?" Ecklie stood up, "She's a loose cannon with a gun, and she's all yours."

Ecklie walked out of the office, and Catherine met his eyes. She looked… angry. Frustrated.

Like she was on Ecklie's side.

Grissom couldn't help but feel hurt. Catherine was his friend… wasn't she?

"Catherine…"

"No, no," She said with a wave of her hand, "I'm sure you know what you're doing."

She said this as if she did not believe he knew what he was doing, not at all.

He turned and went back to his own office.

Catherine was better at politics than he was, that was obvious.

He never thought she'd turn on him, though. Maybe she didn't think that's what she was doing, but that was how it felt. He felt utterly and completely betrayed by one of the few people he'd always trusted.

He sighed deeply and reached for the phone.

* * *

After he left, Sara spent the rest of the afternoon doing various chores around her apartment, but once everything was straightened and scrubbed she realized that this was not going to be enough to keep her busy for a week. Just as she was stowing the broom back in the closet, her phone rang.

"Hello?"

"You're not fired." It was Grissom.

"Well, you told me I wasn't," She said, but she couldn't help breathing a sigh of relief.

"You are still suspended, I couldn't do anything about that."

"I figured," She said.

"Think of it as a week's vacation."

"With no pay."

"Is that going to be a problem?"

Again, it was the tone of his words – they could have sounded cold, but he sounded concerned.

"No," She said, "I'm okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Well…" He hesitated, "What do you have planned?"

"For what?"

"For your week off."

"Nothing," She sighed, "I'd go somewhere, but as it is I'm going to have to take money out of savings to make up for a week without pay."

He said nothing for a moment, and she wondered if the call had been dropped.

"Grissom?"

"I'm here," He said, "Just thinking."

"About what?"

"I'm not sure," He said, "I'll let you know."

She hated when he said things like that.

"Grissom?"

"Yes?"

"Did you mean what you said earlier?"

"I meant everything I said earlier. Which specific thing are you referring to?"

"The… friendship thing."

There was another long moment of silence.

"I did, Sara." He sounded almost wounded, hurt that she didn't believe him.

"Because…" She hesitated, "I really need… I can't have you back away on me again, not now, okay? I need…"

_I need you_, she wanted to say, but couldn't.

"I really need a friend." She finished.

She wished she could see his eyes.

"I understand," He said, after another long pause.

"Okay, then… I guess…"

"I'll give you a call tomorrow," He said abruptly, startling her.

"Okay," Sara said softly, "Bye."

"Bye," He said. She waited until he hung up to replace the phone.

A friend, Sara thought, trying to remember the days when they were friends – a long time ago, it seemed. She missed it.

_It's better than nothing_, she thought, _at this point I'll take what I can get_.

But she wondered for a moment if she would always be willing to settle for something so small.

* * *

A/N 2: I promise, Chapter 4 (which is almost finished) will give these two a chance to lighten up a little.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Night By Night  
Rating: PG for now, but that could change later.  
Pairing: GSR  
Summary: Yep, it's a "How They Got Together" Story. Because we all have to write one someday.  
Chapter summary: Ever wonder how Sara spent her one week suspension?  
Spoilers: Last half of Season 5.  
Disclaimer: Still the same as chapters 1-4.

A/N: A big, _big_ thank you to wobbear for her excellent beta work on this chapter. And as always, thank you to everyone who has reviewed.

Chapter 4

_"You are here with me  
__You are here with me  
__You have been here and you are everything"  
_- _R.E.M., "You Are the Everything" _

Sara had decided to keep her body clock in sync by sticking to her graveyard schedule during her week off, and she had just finished her shower when she heard a knock on her front door at four the next afternoon. Sara took her time answering. Mrs. Cartwright in the next apartment had probably lost her cat again – why couldn't that woman grasp the concept of night shifts?

When Sara glanced through the peephole, however, she saw no sign of Mrs. Cartwright in her flowered housecoat.

"What are you doing here?" she blurted as she opened the door, startled to see Grissom on the other side.

"Don't I get a hello?"

"Hello – what are you doing here?"

He had a bag in one hand, which he held up, as if that made everything clear.

"Did you have plans for this afternoon?" he asked.

"Um… no…" Sara opened the door fully and let him in, closing it behind him.

"I thought of this last night," he said, pulling a DVD case out of his bag . "Have you seen it?"

He handed her the box.

"_North by Northwest_," she read, "I've heard of it, but I've never seen it. Hitchcock?"

Grissom nodded, eyes crinkling. He reached into the bag again and pulled out two bags of microwave popcorn.

"You brought popcorn?"

"How can you watch a movie without popcorn?" he asked, and Sara grinned back.

"You want us to watch a movie?" Sara asked, and Grissom's smile faltered.

"Well, I…"

"No, no, it's… just…"

He raised his eyebrows at her, and Sara felt the corners of her mouth turning up.

"It's just…" he prompted.

"I'm just surprised," Sara finished, "somehow that wasn't what I was expecting."

"'Oft expectation fails, and most oft there, /Where most it promises; and oft it hits /Where hope is coldest, and despair most fits.'" Grissom shrugged a shoulder as he quoted.

Sara rolled her eyes, but she took one of the popcorn bags from Grissom.

"You start the movie," she said, "I'll start the popcorn."

They sat on opposite ends of Sara's couch, with the popcorn bowl between them. Grissom had seen the movie before – several times – and it was a good thing, too, since the presence of Sara just a few feet away was hopelessly distracting.

Sara, however, seemed lost in the plot, her eyes locked on Cary Grant. Grissom marveled at her intensity – Sara never did anything halfway, and that apparently included the simple act of watching a movie. He indulged himself in watching her, timing his reaches for the popcorn in order to brush against her fingers, hoping that she wouldn't notice.

As the end credits rolled, Sara turned to him.

"That was a really good movie," she said. "I didn't expect it to be – I mean…" she paused, and Grissom raised his eyebrows.

"I'm not usually a Hitchcock fan," she finished, sheepishly.

"Well, I'm glad you liked it." He glanced at his watch.

"You have to be somewhere?" Sara asked.

"No, actually," he said, "I'm free until I have to be at work… would you like to go get some coffee? I know a place near here."

"You know this neighborhood?" Sara asked, her eyes teasing.

"It's close to the lab," he pointed out.

Sara nodded. "Yeah, I was thinking of that when I rented it," Sara said, "short commute…"

"Easier to spend all of your time at work?" he asked, and Sara narrowed her eyes.

"You should talk," she said, and he tilted his head, conceding.

"Point taken," he said, "shall we go?"

Sara stood up and picked up her purse from the counter.

"Lead the way."

The coffee shop Grissom picked out was one Sara knew well. She stopped in at least once a week for a cup of coffee before work – sometimes more than once, depending on the kind of week it was. She'd never actually taken the time to go inside and sit for a while – the idea of sitting alone in a coffee shop bored her, even though she'd seen more than a few people sitting on the shop's overstuffed chairs with books in their hands or laptops open. Somehow being alone in a public place made her feel even more alone.

After they'd ordered, Sara reached in her purse for her wallet, but Grissom rested his hand on her arm.

"My treat." He said, handing a ten dollar bill to the woman behind the counter. "You paid last time," he added, in response to Sara's look.

"When did I pay?" she asked as he handed her the cardboard cup.

"Last time." He reached for the bottle of half and half that rested on the countertop.

"When was that?" she asked again.

"You don't remember?" he looked amused.

"No," Sara said, "I don't remember us sharing anything but breakroom coffee since…" And then she did remember, and blushed slightly at the memory.

Grissom sat at a table in the back corner, and Sara sat across from him.

"I do remember," she said, and he smiled again. "Back in San Francisco. After that seminar."

"After you ran me all over the city."

"I didn't run you all over, you said you wanted to see it."

"Yes, but when it started raining…"

Sara laughed. "Thank God that coffee shop was only a few blocks away."

"And you paid."

"I did." Sara nodded. "All right, so you owed me."

Grissom nodded as he took a sip of his coffee.

Sara remembered that afternoon with a wistful smile. They'd had such a good time – even after it started to pour with rain, soaking them both in a matter of seconds. The nearby coffee shop had provided a good place to take refuge, and they'd sat there for hours, talking about physics and entomology and forensics and whatever else they could think of, without the conversation getting too personal.

Sara remembered going home that night giddy with excitement – it was the look in his eyes. It promised something more… but then he went back to Vegas, and their relationship became one of phone calls and e-mails, a long-distance friendship that was closer, somehow, than their face to face relationship had become.

"Did I lose you?" Grissom asked, startling Sara out of her thoughts. She looked up at him, confused.

"You… seemed to be somewhere else there for a minute," he said, and Sara sighed.

"I was remembering that day," she said, and Grissom nodded. Sara took a sip from her coffee cup and stared at the table for a moment.

"What happened to us?" she blurted, surprising herself as much as Grissom, whose eyes widened. He thought for a moment, but he knew what she meant.

_A friend would be honest_.

"I don't know. But it's my fault, Sara, not yours."

Sara looked up at him, but he kept talking.

"I-I've never been good with people," he hesitated, and Sara smiled.

"No kidding," she said, and Grissom gave her a small frown before he continued.

"And that includes you. Sometimes, Sara…" He looked away from her, focusing on the other patrons in the coffee shop for a moment. A couple was sitting in the opposite corner, leaning close across their table, whispering to each other, smiling and laughing at some private joke. He turned back to Sara, who was looking at him with her wide brown eyes, open to him, and he wanted to lean across the table and whisper in her ear.

But he didn't have the nerve.

"Sometimes, Sara," he repeated, "I… wish I knew what to say to you."

"What do you mean?" Sara narrowed her eyes.

"You… leave me speechless."

"Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?" Sara asked, after a long silence. She tried to sound teasing, but he heard the vulnerability in her voice.

"It's a bad thing for me, because it means I've hurt you without meaning to."

Sara felt tears prick, and she blinked them back.

"And… I'm sorry," he finished.

Sara nodded, not trusting her voice.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Sara looked away, then back at him.

"So… is this what you do with all your employees who get suspended?" She asked.

"No." He sipped his coffee. "Just you."

They sat in the coffee shop for several hours, talking. Grissom had asked her about her opinion on the movie, and they started talking about other movies, and books, and even old TV shows. (Even though Grissom claimed not to have watched television since 1975, he knew a lot about shows he'd supposedly never seen, which made Sara smile.) Finally something made Sara glance at the clock above the front windows.

"Griss, it's almost eleven o'clock. You have to be at work."

He looked up, startled.

"I do, don't I? Come on, I'll drop you off on the way."

After he'd dropped her off at her apartment, Sara walked to her window to watch him drive away. She couldn't help but smile as his car turned the corner.

_Maybe we've turned a corner_.

* * *

Greg and Sofia were surprised when their boss walked in to hand out assignments a full five minutes late, and smiling, to boot – they'd expected him to be in one of his moods, with Sara gone for the week. He smiled all the way through a two week old decomp even though there weren't any bugs, and Greg was sure he heard him whistling as he worked on logging evidence in the layout room.

"What's he so happy about?" Sofia asked as she passed by.

"I don't know," Greg said, "But whatever it is, it's great for us."

"You're not kidding," Sofia nodded, and the two of them went off to their work.

Although she had tried so hard not get her hopes up, when the knock came at precisely four o'clock the next afternoon, Sara realized she had done exactly that. She was relieved not to be disappointed. She opened the door to Grissom, who had a heavy bag of Chinese takeout in one hand and a DVD case in the other.

"What are we watching today?"

"_Ocean's Eleven_." Grissom held up the movie.

"Oh, the original? Or the remake?"

"They remade it?"

Sara laughed, shaking her head. "I guess that answers that question."

After the movie, Grissom sighed contentedly, and Sara grinned at him.

"You enjoyed that?"

"It's a great movie," he said. "I haven't seen it in a long time. My father… he was a huge Sinatra fan. The whole Rat Pack, really."

"Really? Your father?" Sara had never heard him talk about his family, and she was intrigued.

"Mmm-hmm," Grissom nodded, "Dad loved to put on his Sinatra albums. He'd smoke his cigarettes, have a drink and listen to his music."

"Really?" Sara had a hard time picturing this.

"Yeah," Grissom said, lost in his memory, "my father was a botany professor. He was skinny, and he wore glasses – he was a quiet man, he liked his routines."

"Now that sounds like someone I know," Sara teased.

"I think he enjoyed the escapism of it – listening to Dean Martin, he could get away from being himself for a few hours on Saturday nights. He would say 'Now, Gilbert, this is music! Not that rock n'roll garbage!'"

Sara couldn't help but laugh at his impression.

"After he died, we never even used the record player, but my mother wouldn't get rid of the albums. I think she still has them."

"How old were you when he died?" Sara asked.

"Nine."

She nodded. "I was twelve."

He looked up at her, surprised she'd brought up her own father.

"Was he… good to you and your mother?"

"He was… as good as he knew how to be, I suppose," Grissom said thoughtfully, "He wasn't an emotional man, or demonstrative. He was kind, but in his own way. He told me once, when I was around seven, that a good man always kept his word and fulfilled his responsibilities."

_That explains a lot_, Sara thought, but she only nodded.

"I think he loved us – my mother and me – but he never would have said so. I don't know if it ever occurred to him to say so." Grissom finished, "I think he thought we just knew."

"Did you?" Sara asked. Grissom shrugged.

"I'd better clean up these containers." Sara gathered up the remnants of their dinner, stashing the leftovers in the refrigerator. Grissom watched her for a moment before he got up and began to help.

"My father," Sara said, her face hidden by the refrigerator door, "he didn't like responsibility. He and my mother were married when they were barely out of high school – my mother was pregnant with my brother, so they had no choice."

Grissom remembered her mentioning an older brother once, several years ago. "I'm sure that wasn't an ideal situation."

Sara pulled her head out of the refrigerator and looked at him.

"No, it wasn't. And they… didn't know how to handle it. Neither of them. Not just my father, my mother… she… drank. All the time."

Sara had finished with the takeout containers, and she began loading the few dishes they'd used in the dishwasher. Grissom waited for her to continue, wondering if she would.

"They'd fight, and he would hit her, and she'd hide in her room and drink… for days. And then she'd come out, put some makeup on her bruises, and it would be like nothing ever happened. My father would bring home flowers, say how sorry he was, and he'd swear it would never happen again."

Sara shoved the dishwasher door closed.

"And I always believed him." She looked away from Grissom, focusing her attention on the kitchen counter. "One day he stopped apologizing. It was like… he didn't care. And my mother... she stopped fighting back."

"She fought back?"

"Oh, yeah, when I was little. My mother wasn't the only one with bruises. But my father was taller, and stronger, and he'd always win. It was never a fair fight."

Sara let out a long sigh and started wiping down the counter with a wet paper towel, even though it was already spotless – Grissom could tell that she was just trying to keep her hands moving.

"And she'd lock herself in her room, and I wasn't allowed to disturb her, so…"

"Who took care of you?" Grissom asked. He couldn't help it.

"Me, I guess," Sara shrugged, and he knew what that meant.

"It just sort of got worse," Sara continued. "She'd tried to kill him once before, you know… he had passed out. She tried to smother him with a pillow. I stopped her, but… I was at school the day she…"

Sara let her words trail off, and she stopped scrubbing at the counter.

"Don't," Grissom said, walking up behind her and resting his hands on her shoulders. "You don't have to."

Sara turned around, a forced smile on her face despite the tears glistening in her eyes. "Sorry… I guess…"

"No," he said, "it's okay, I mean… if you want to talk. But you don't have to."

"Okay. I'll keep that in mind."

Sara changed the subject after that, though, tossing him her new copy of the _Journal of Forensic Science_, which had just arrived that morning.

"Check that out," she said, "there's a new study on the effects of relative humidity on insect development."

Grissom flipped through the journal, landing on the article.

"Oh, good. It's by my friend Herman Youngsdahl, he's been working on it for years."

"You know about it already?"

"Only what Herman told me," Grissom shrugged. "We talked about it at the last conference – he's based at the University of Minnesota, we used to work together quite a bit when I was in Hennepin County. Although he never liked leaving the lab."

"That's when you worked with Gerard."

At the mention of his former mentor, Grissom made a face. "He was good, back then – it's a shame what he became. I used to be in awe of him – he seemed to have all the answers."

"I know how that feels," she said, and Grissom returned her smile.

"I was always trying to impress him – and it didn't always work."

"Really? I have a hard time imagining you as anything less than impressive."

"Oh, I had my moments."

"I don't believe you." Sara shook her head, and Grissom smiled again.

"I remember one case – he was supervising, and he brought me out to work the scene, at Lake Minnetonka. The victim had been found on the dock, right next to his boat. So Gerard told me to process the dock."

"And?"

"And I did." He hesitated, then went on, "and I was so involved in looking for trace that I walked right off the edge… and fell into the lake."

Sara burst out laughing.

"It's not that funny." Grissom sounded wounded.

"I'm sorry," Sara gasped, "but…" She started laughing again. This was not something she would have expected of Grissom, but now that he had told her the story, she could picture it – him as a young, eager criminalist, hoping to impress, and falling into the water instead.

"And to top it off," he added, "it was October, and it was extremely cold in that water."

Sara tried to respond, but couldn't stop laughing. After a few moments, Grissom joined her.

"It's funny now," he admitted. "It wasn't funny then."

Sara's laughter subsided into a few stray giggles, and she sighed. "I needed that," she said. "The great Gil Grissom is…"

"What?"

"Human." Sara said, feeling a surge of affection. She wanted to run her hand through his curls and kiss his forehead, but she stopped herself.

They talked for a while longer, until it was nearly eleven and Grissom again had to leave for work. Sara spent her evening happily scribbling comments on her new journal issue, singing to herself as she did so.

Grissom, meanwhile, spent his spare time that evening with the same journal issue – the lab's copy this time – taking notes on the articles he thought Sara might be interested in.

Greg happened to walk past Grissom's office a couple of times, and he couldn't help but notice the smile on the older man's face. He found Sofia in the break room, eating a sandwich.

"Have you seen Grissom lately?" He asked.

"Yep. He's smiling again."

"What's with him?"

"I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth, Greg," Sofia said, "Neither should you."

* * *

They spent the next evening sharing their thoughts on the journal articles, along with several containers of takeout – Thai, this time. Sara noticed that the food was from her favorite restaurant –it turned to be one of Grissom's favorites, too.

Grissom showed up at five on day five of her suspension, having called first to let her know he'd be a little late – and when he arrived, he was dressed in a polo shirt and jeans, definitely not work clothes.

"It's my night off," he explained in response to Sara's surprised look. "I thought we might go out for some dinner."

Sara almost had to pick her jaw up off of the floor. "You're asking me to dinner?"

"We've had dinner together the last several nights in a row," he reminded her, "I just thought we might go out."

"Okay," Sara agreed. "Do I need to get dressed up?"

Grissom looked at her. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a tank top.

"No, this place is informal," he said. "You look perfect just the way you are."

The restaurant Grissom had chosen was a tiny little Italian place called Passerella's, far off the strip and away from the tourists. Grissom greeted the host as if they were old friends.

"Joe, how are you?"

"Mr. Grissom, good to see you again. And I see you brought a friend this evening?"

"Joe, this is Sara Sidle, Sara, this is Joe Passerella. He owns this place."

Joe and Sara exchanged nice-to-meet-yous and he led them to a table.

"The ravioli here is excellent," Grissom said as they opened their menus, and Sara nodded. They were halfway through their meal – and halfway through a very good bottle of Italian red wine– when Sara set down her fork and looked at him.

"Enjoying yourself?" she asked.

Grissom nodded as he took another bite of his pasta.

"Then how come you said no to me when I asked you to dinner the last time?"

Grissom choked slightly, and took a long drink from his glass of wine to give him time to recover before he answered.

"Timing."

"Timing?" Sara frowned.

"Yes, timing. You have no idea how bad your timing was."

"Excuse me?"

_A friend would be honest._

"I was losing my hearing," he said. "It's hereditary, from my mother. The condition's called Otosclerosis. I was contemplating surgery to correct it. And then came the lab explosion, I was worried about Greg… and about you." He sighed before continuing, "and Catherine was suspended, and the sheriff was, well, being the sheriff… "

"And I picked that moment to walk in and ask you to dinner."

Grissom nodded. Sara groaned.

"You're right, really bad timing," she said, "Um… why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know how to tell you. I didn't know how to tell anyone – Catherine just guessed." After a pause he added, "But we're here now."

"Yeah, but this isn't a date," Sara said, hoping against hope he would tell her that it was.

"Right," he said, sounding sad.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up," Sara stammered, feeling a little silly. Of course this wasn't a date, this was just two friends, sharing dinner…

"No… you have a right to know. I said no because I thought I had to, not because I didn't want to have dinner with you."

"And now?"

"I'm turning over a new leaf," he said, and Sara smiled.

"I can understand that." Sara held up her glass of wine. "To new beginnings."

Grissom lifted his glass and they clinked them together.

After dinner and a long walk through a nearby park, Grissom dropped Sara off at her apartment and drove home, thinking.

He should have said it was a date. What was the worst that could have happened? She had clearly been enjoying their time together.

But something was still holding him back.

_Inappropriate places_.

She needed a friend. So did he.

He would not take unfair advantage of the situation.

But he wanted to – oh, God, how he wanted to.

The next night he was on his way to Sara's when his phone rang. It was Catherine, asking him to help her out on a DB out in the desert. She was saying something about how her entire shift was working, and she knew he just loved the bug cases…

He did, but he still wanted to see Sara.

Sara was understanding when he called, even though he was full of apologies.

"Grissom, it's okay," she said, finally, "we have the same job, remember? Go have fun with your bugs."

After Sara hung up, though, she realized how she'd already become used to spending her evenings with him.

_This is silly,_ she thought._ I'll find something to do. It's not his fault_.

Even though she knew better, she felt just a little lonely.

* * *

The next night, he brought pizza and another movie, and after they'd finished the movie and their dinner, Grissom turned to her.

"I really am sorry about last night," he started, but Sara stopped him.

"Grissom, believe me, I understand."

"Most people don't," he said, remembering his aborted date with Teri Miller. It was a long time ago, but the memory still stung. Most women, he knew, wouldn't put up with him – or his job – for long.

"I'm not most people," Sara said matter-of-factly as she gathered up their plates, and Grissom watched her retreating back.

She was right, he thought, and he felt a little silly at ever thinking differently.

_Sara understands_.

"I go back to work tomorrow," Sara said from the kitchen.

"I know, Greg can't wait."

"And you?" She turned around.

"It's strange –I've seen you almost every night," he said, "but I've missed working with you."

"What are we going to do?" Sara asked, and he cocked his head at her.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean… I don't know what I mean." Sara looked frustrated. "I don't… I don't want things to just go back to the way they were."

Grissom looked up at her and sighed. "I don't either," he said, "but I don't think they will."

"Will you still come over every night?" Sara asked, a smile playing at the edges of her lips.

"Not every night," He admitted, and Sara's face fell, "but every night that I can."

He wanted her smile back, and he got it.

"It's been a nice week. Just what I needed. Thanks, Grissom."

He nodded. "I've enjoyed it too.".

As he left for work that night, Grissom couldn't help but feel a little sad. He would be happy to have Sara back at the lab, but this week had been… well, better than he'd ever expected. He had regained her friendship, and his entire life seemed brighter. But it was almost like a week outside of time, and he feared that the next week would bring them back to normal.

The dream was ending much too soon.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: As always, thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed! I'm happy everyone is enjoying this story so far, I know I'm having a blast writing it.

And a big thank you to wobbear for another extremely well done beta job.

Chapter Summary: Sara returns to work, and a certain third party must be dealt with.

* * *

Chapter 5

"_The fawn eyed girl with sun browned legs dances on the edge of his dreams  
__And her voice rings in his ears like the music of the spheres…"  
__Rush, "The Analog Kid"_

It was Sara's third day back, and Grissom was beginning to feel nostalgic for the week before.

The criminals who had given him a break during that golden week were now back out in force, and he and Sara had both ended up working doubles on her first two days back. He had finally found time to meet Sara for coffee, but just as they were sitting down, his cell phone rang.

He sighed. "I wish I could just ignore it."

"We both know you can't," Sara said, testing the temperature of her coffee.

"Grissom."

"Hey, it's me." Although he'd recognized her number, Grissom was annoyed that Sofia didn't identify herself. "Brass and I just came from Sutor. They found Lori Kyman."

Grissom sighed again. Lori Kyman had been reported missing the night before last, and he'd found himself stuck working the scene around her abandoned car with Sofia, who still had that annoying habit of talking to herself as she processed a scene.

"Would you come and assist with processing the body?" Sofia asked, and Grissom knew he had to – he didn't want to leave the case to Sofia, at any rate.

"Yeah, I'll be there in about 15 minutes," he said, and flipped the phone closed.

Sara raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

"They found Lori Kyman."

"Oh." Sara nodded.

"Sofia would like me to join her in processing the body," he added.

Sara tried to hide her scowl. She'd forgotten about Sofia.

"I better get going," Grissom said, but he looked at her wistfully a long moment before he actually got up from the table.

_He didn't want to go_. "I'll see you at the lab," Sara said, smiling up at him.

This was ridiculous, Grissom thought as he made his way to the lab; they'd been working together every evening and yet he was already starting to miss Sara. One week had shaken his routine out of whack, and he was dismayed to find out he enjoyed the new routine much better than the old one.

He made his way to the morgue, where Sofia was already waiting, looking over the body on an examination table.

"That was more than 15 minutes," she said.

"Hello to you, too," he said, looking down at the body of Lori Kyman. She was wearing a blue dress and high heels – what a woman would wear to go out, nothing unexpected there.

Sofia moved around to the woman's head and began running a comb through her hair, while Grissom began looking over the dress.

"She was dumped under a white birch. Her hair is full of pods and tree vegetation." Sofia noted. Grissom pulled out a tape lift and captured some fibers he noticed on the dress.

"Red fibers and blue fibers on her dress."

"White powder on both palms." Sofia looked at both of the woman's hands while Grissom continued to examine the dress.

"Brown hair – with a follicular tag," He said, lifting the hair, "A person's entire identity, balled up in a few nanograms of matter."

He wasn't sure why he felt the need to start philosophizing – especially with Sofia, who was bound to argue with him.

Sofia looked at the swab she'd taken. "Assuming one's identity can be wholly quantified by our DNA."

"Well, genetically it can," Grissom countered. "We're completely programmed as soon as the sperm hits the egg."

"So we're defined at a cellular level."

"More or less."

"No." Sofia lifted up a camera. "Identity is the totality of our life experiences. How our brain neurons process our relationship to the world and each other." She snapped a photo.

Sara's smile rose to his mind, as it had so many times, unbidden but not entirely unwanted, and he pictured his brain neurons misfiring as they tried to process his relationship with Sara. He wondered where in his DNA it was encoded that Sara's eyes would cause the neurons responsible for reason and intelligence to stop working. He wondered if a woman's eyes had ever sent his father reeling into sleepless nights, lost words and hopeless fantasies, as if genetics could explain everything. There was no way to know, and that made him feel a little sad all of a sudden.

"I stand corrected. DNA is what we are, not who we are."

"What we are never changes, who we are never stops changing." Sofia sounded as if she'd spent quite a bit of time thinking about this.

"Yeah," Grissom agreed, thinking back to the past week, "Whether we like it or not."

* * *

Grissom retreated to his office after he and Sofia finished the long process of cataloging the evidence taken from the body.

_What we are never changes, but who we are never stops changing_.

She was right, of course. He found it somewhat irritating that she was right, but he had to acknowledge it.

He had changed over the past few months, over the past few weeks, even over the past few days. He had rediscovered the part of him that was once Sara's friend, the man who had once smiled at her e-mails and spent hours on long-distance phone calls. And as he had rediscovered that, he remembered the reason he had let the friendship fade.

It wasn't enough.

He couldn't count how many times over the past week he had wanted to touch Sara, to kiss her, to hold her. It was exhausting to keep fighting that desire, and yet he was lost without her presence. One week, and suddenly just seeing her at work was no longer enough. He wanted to be back on the couch, in the coffee shop, sharing time and space and _life_ – it was as if an entire world had just come into being, and he desperately wanted to explore it even though he was scared of what he might find.

It was paralyzing and exhilarating, all at the same time.

This was not him, though, this was not who he was. _Was it?_

_Who we are never stops changing._

* * *

Meanwhile, Sara sat in the garage, watching the tire of Lori Kyman's Lexus spin around. Grissom had asked her to prove one of the suspects in the woman's murder was lying. It was a boring assignment, but it gave her a chance to think. She was happy to be back at work. Her week off had reminded her how much she really did love her job – something she'd started to forget, long before her suspension.

But was it enough?

She'd been disappointed when Grissom's phone rang, calling him back to work, even though she knew it was part of the job. It could have just as easily been her cell phone. She still would have felt just as disappointed.

Spending time together at work was great, but… it wasn't enough anymore. She wanted him back on her couch, sharing takeout, laughing over a movie. She missed him, she realized, as silly as that sounded.

She missed the Grissom who'd spent the better part of the week on her couch, the Grissom she rarely saw in the lab. The Grissom with a sense of humor, who listened to her, who shared a part of himself with her.

The Grissom she fell in love with.

At times during the past year she'd wondered exactly why she still cared about him when he seemed to be doing everything in his power to push her away.

But now… now he was making a sincere effort.

To be a friend.

Was that all, though?

She had to believe it was – it would hurt too much to be disappointed again. She had read too much into his actions in the past, she had no inclination to repeat that mistake. Take him at his word, she thought, and be glad for what you have.

Besides. He might have spent the week with her, but Sofia was still in the picture, and she had no idea what he'd been doing with Sofia while he wasn't with her.

She'd seen the way Sofia brushed by him too closely, the way she tried to catch Grissom's eye.

Sara sighed.

We're friends, she thought, that's all we are.

She watched the wheel spin and tried to come up with a positive thought.

_Well, at least if he starts dating Sofia, he'll probably tell me about it._ Sara snorted, a harsh humorless sound._ That's not much comfort._

She wouldn't have to hear it through lab gossip, which already had Grissom in passionate embraces with the blond in the evidence locker.

That same lab gossip insisted that Catherine – or Sofia, depending on the teller of the story – had been seen crawling out from under Ecklie's desk, so Sara didn't put much stock in it. She still didn't like hearing it, though.

She heard footsteps behind her, someone entering the garage. She turned to see Greg, who pulled up a bucket and sat alongside her.

"You giving the car a workout?" he asked.

"Well, you know you said that the suspect admitted to following Lori, but when the tire didn't go flat, he gave up? Grissom wants me to disprove his account," Sara explained.

"How long has the tire been going round and round?"

Sara looked down at the stopwatch she held in her hand. "Three hours and nine minutes."

_For three hours and nine minutes_, Sara thought, _I've been sitting in the garage, staring at this tire, and I haven't figured anything out. Except that this stupid bucket is not comfortable_.

"She left the club around eleven. Time of death was between midnight and one am."

"Lori died before the tire went flat." Sara concluded, and Greg nodded.

"Hey, Sara," Greg began, and Sara stood, putting the bucket against the wall.

"I'm going to go tell Grissom the results of his experiment," Sara cut him off, "I'll see you later."

The tone in Greg's voice had suggested he wanted to discuss something personal, and she wasn't in the mood. She'd managed to avoid people's questions about her blowout with Catherine and Ecklie, and she was hoping the entire incident would be quietly forgotten.

She wasn't able to escape Greg forever, though – later that evening, after she'd questioned Lori Kyman's friend and discovered the friend's car was the same type as the car which left red fibers on Lori's body. She was just about to start processing the car when she heard Greg walk into the garage behind her. She popped open the trunk and sighed heavily – both because of what she saw there and the fact that she couldn't avoid him this time.

"You started without me?"

"Actually, I finished without you, take a look," Sara said.

"Carpet's black, fibers on the vic's clothing were red."

"Obviously we can rule out this car."

"I don't mean to pry," Greg began, and Sara looked at him, "But… you want to talk about what happened with you and Ecklie?"

"Not really." She hoped he'd take the hint.

"I don't know if you know this about me, but I'm a good listener."

Sara softened. Greg was only trying to be nice.

"I… blew up at Ecklie. It was very unprofessional… and very satisfying," She added, "and now we're moving on. Thanks for asking."

Greg nodded, and Sara turned away and shut the trunk.

_Hopefully no one else would want to talk about it._

Soon it was the end of shift, and Grissom found her in the locker room.

"Heading out?" he asked.

Sara nodded. "Yep – unless you need me."

"No, no, I was just leaving myself…" He hesitated. Sara waited for him to speak.

"Would you like to try again this afternoon?" he asked.

"Try what again?"

"Coffee?"

Sara, pleased, gave him the thumbs up. "If you don't get called in… or if I don't get called in… you're on."

He returned her smile as he turned to walk back to his office.

"Maybe I should turn it off." Grissom glanced warily at his cell phone as they sat down with their coffee, and Sara tilted her head, considering.

"I will if you will."

He looked tempted, but shook his head. "I wish we could," he said.

"I love my job." Sara intended it to be a joke, but Grissom took her seriously.

"Do you?"

She had to think for a moment.

"I do," she said, "I really do. But it's not as exciting as it used to be… and I don't think that's the job. I think that's me."

"It can be exhausting," Grissom offered, and Sara agreed.

"My counselor said I was substituting work for other things in my life," Sara said, "I could excel at my job even if my personal life wasn't going well, you know? It was something I had control over. Or I thought I did, anyway."

"Maybe I should see your counselor," Grissom joked.

"Her name is Dr. Martin," Sara's eyes twinkled, "I could get you an appointment."

"I remember I once told you that you deserved a life," Grissom said thoughtfully, looking down into his coffee cup.

"Yeah, I remember. As if that wasn't the pot calling the kettle black."

"I worried about you – when you first moved here. You would get so…"

"Involved? Invested? Yeah, I know. But… I think you saw it in me because you saw it in yourself."

Grissom had to acknowledge this.

"Besides," she added, "I did try to get a life, if you remember."

"I remember," he said glumly, remembering Hank the paramedic, and how much he'd hated the man – even if his jealousy was unjustified. He'd known that his feelings were irrational, and that had irritated him all the more – and he knew he'd taken it out on Sara. He had felt guilty and angry and too many unexplainable things all at once, and that had been a first for him.

"Yeah, well, he was a jerk," Sara continued, sipping at her coffee. "He asked me out even though he already had a girlfriend."

"H--He did?" His shock was evident.

"You didn't know? I figured Catherine would have told you everything."

"Catherine?"

"She and I went out for a beer after I found out – I'm sure you know how Eddie treated her – she was a sympathetic ear. But I figured you guys talked… didn't you?"

"No," he said, "Catherine isn't one to betray a confidence… besides, it's been a long time since we talked like we used to."

"Really?" Sara asked, and Grissom thought for a moment.

Catherine had been a good friend for a long time – but their relationship had changed over the years, especially after Sara came to Las Vegas. Over the years they'd stopped spending time together, stopped really talking to each other… what did that remind him of?

Again he reflected that his life had been much richer a few years ago. Before his hearing started to fail, before he had cut himself off from everyone. Before he had faced up to the fact that he was in love with Sara, but couldn't risk everything else to be with her.

He had rationalized that decision – telling himself that he was honoring his responsibilities, thinking of Sara and the team, not his own desires. That he was doing the right thing – as hard as it was.

He hadn't dealt with it well, not at all, he now realized. He had pulled back from everyone – including Catherine.

"Really," he said. "Things… got in the way."

Sara nodded.

He had done the "right" thing. He had lost so much of his life along the way, though – and none of it had mattered.

He looked at Sara across the table, and suddenly noticed the wrinkle in her forehead – had that wrinkle always been there? He wanted to reach across the table and kiss her forehead, even more beautiful with that imperfection.

_To hell with what's right_, he thought, _someday I should just do what I want._

"Griss?" Sara startled him out of his reverie.

"Yeah?"

"You still with me?"

"Yeah," he repeated, "I was just thinking."

"About what?" Sara asked.

"The things that got in the way."

* * *

Mia called out to Sara as she walked down the hallway.

"Hey, Sara, would you take this to Grissom and Sofia? I've paged Sofia, but no answer."

"Sure, what is it?" Sara asked, taking the file from Mia.

"Their DNA results."

"If you're taking them their DNA results, you may as well bring them this," Hodges came striding into the room, "trace results from the Kyman autopsy."

"Wow, Hodges, you're quick," Sara commented, "That was only 24 hours ago."

He gave her a withering glare. "I was comparing trace from the autopsy to what they collected today. You know, if you people weren't in such a hurry, I might be able to get something done for a change. You have no idea…"

"Thanks, Hodges," Sara interrupted him, "I'll take it to Grissom." She walked down the hallway, carrying the results, but as she turned the corner, she spotted Grissom and Sofia in the break room. They were sitting close together, too close together, and Sofia was smiling, showing a photo to Grissom, the two of them perfectly in sync.

Sara's heart sank.

She paused at the door, watching the two of them for a moment. Sofia was exactly what she wasn't, in so many ways – she was bright, flirtatious, fun, not burdened with a horrible history and the social skills of a shy seventh-grader.

Sara's thoughts churned, along with her stomach. _He was only trying to repair their friendship because he pitied her. He had no reason to pity Sofia._

She waited for a few seconds, then spoke up. "DNA from uh, Lori's shirt came back, it matches her husband."

Grissom and Sofia both turned to look at her as she spoke. "That could be probative," Sofia said. "Or casual transfer, unrelated to the case," Grissom countered.

"I also picked up your trace results," Sara handed them to Grissom.

He read from the file. "Baby powder on Lori's palms is consistent with the baby powder we found at the Kyman's residence."

"According to her girlfriend, Lori washed her hands at the club…"

"Which suggests that Lori came home before she was killed," Sofia finished.

"Which contradicts the husband's account," added Grissom.

"I hate to state the obvious, but… maybe the husband's lying," was Sara's contribution.

Sofia began theorizing. "All right, well, let's say she came home first. Mark killed her, drove her out to Sutor, and uh, dumped the body."

"One problem, Mark doesn't have a car. And the carpet fibers we found on Lori's clothing are inconsistent with her Lexus."

"Or…" Sara decided to show them she still had a brain, if nothing else, "Maybe Lori came home, she and Mark had a fight, maybe she found out he was fooling around, again, she takes off, drives around, tire eventually goes flat, she pulls over to the side of the road, and a stranger comes along and abducts her."

"A stranger driving a Bentley." Sofia looked dubious.

Sara shrugged. She realized her theory was a long shot, but strange things happened every day in Las Vegas.

"Hey, the rich are just as deviant as the poor," Grissom said, and Sofia looked slightly miffed. Sara had to smile.

_He took my side_, she thought, _maybe there is hope after all._

* * *

Sara decided to check out the car, and a few hours later she found Grissom in his office, his head bent over paperwork.

"Hey," she walked in, looking at his paper-strewn desk, "Oh. Filling out reports?"

"They tell me it's my job," Grissom put down his pen, pleased for the break. He studied her carefully. He'd noticed the look on Sara's face earlier, when he was working with Sofia in the break room. He wanted to ask "What's wrong?" but it came out "You doing okay?"

Sara was pensive for a moment, then nodded, smiling.

"Yeah," she said, "Thanks. I uh, I did a DMV search… there are only five Bentleys with red interiors registered in Clark County. Two are leased, two are privately owned, I ran the RO's, nothing suspicious, PD is following up."

"What about the fifth one?" He asked.

"Well, that one is owned by a boutique rental car agency. I subpoenaed the rental history – Diane Hoyt, Lori's mother, had the car for the last two weeks. She returned it the day after Lori disappeared."

"Where is it now?" Grissom asked, and Sara reported in a satisfied tone, "They're bringing it in."

"Good job," he said, "I'd love to help, but…"

"Reports," Sara stood up. "Don't worry, I think we've got it covered."

"I know you do," he said.

* * *

The next day, Sara was the one who came in early – Sofia had already interrogated Diane Hoyt, and had been working on some new evidence that implicated her, but she wanted Sara's help with the final interrogation. The results were predictable - the evidence was strong and the accomplice's lawyer started asking for a deal before they'd even finished.

"Well, that went well," Sofia commented as they headed back to the lab. "Always nice to wrap up a case so neatly."

"Yeah, except for Lori Kyman's son," Sara said. "Someone always loses."

Sofia nodded in acknowledgement. "You did a good job," she said, and Sara had to hide her surprise.

"Thanks," she replied, suspicious. Before Sofia could answer, Greg caught up to them as they walked through the lab hallway. "I know why she did it. While you two were at PD I called the family lawyer, he faxed over a copy of Lori's father's trust. The estate's worth 50 million."

"He left it all to Lori?" Sofia asked.

"No, to her son. Lori was the trustee, with a stipend of 2.5 mil a year. If anything were to happen to Lori, guess who takes her place?"

"Her stepmom." Sara concluded. It was obvious.

"Yep."

Sofia started to walk ahead before turning to face them, "Uh, listen, you guys, I'll catch up later."

Greg watched Sofia go before turning to Sara. He reached out to pat her arm. "She's fitting in pretty well, huh?" he asked.

Sara looked at him, then just walked away.

Grissom heard a sound in his office doorway.

"You got a minute?"

Somehow he had not expected to turn and see Sofia.

"Sure. You did a nice job on the case."

"I uh…" Sofia cleared her throat, "I just wanted you to know that I've enjoyed working with you."

He turned to face her, surprised – _what was she leading up to?_

"Well, I've enjoyed working with you as well."

Sofia shook her head. "Uh, it's time I made a change. I don't like the direction the lab's headed."

Grissom was even more startled – _Sofia was quitting?_

"You mean Ecklie? You can't pay any attention to him."

"You've got a good team," Sofia said, "but I was a supervisor. My demotion was undeserved, and every day I'm here, I'm reminded of that."

Grissom nodded as he remembered their earlier conversation.

"What?" she asked.

"Well, someone once said 'What we are never changes, but who we are never stops changing.'" Sofia smiled when she recognized her own words.

He didn't want Sofia to quit. He had to try to talk her out of it. "Let's have dinner, shall we?"

Sofia gave him a strange look, but agreed.

* * *

He found Sara in the locker room, sitting on the bench, staring into her open locker.

"You okay?"

"Huh? Oh, sure. Just thinking."

"About what?" he asked, and Sara flashed him a look.

"Nothing important," she said. "What's up?"

The tone of her voice worried him – she sounded as if she were shutting herself off, which was not what he had hoped to hear.

"Would you like to come to dinner with me?" he asked.

Sara looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise at the formality of the invitation – as well as the fact that it was being delivered in the lab.

"Excuse me?"

"With Sofia and me," he amended, and Sara's gaze fell to the floor.

"You're taking Sofia out to dinner." Her voice sounded flat, disappointed.

"Yes, and I'd like you to come with."

"Why?" Sara shook her head, incredulous. "Why would you want to invite me along on your date?"

"A date? Where did you get that idea?" He looked genuinely shocked.

"Because…"

"I asked Sofia to dinner because she wants to quit. I want to talk her out of it, and I'd like your help."

"Why does she want to quit?"

"Ecklie."

Sara nodded. She could relate to that.

"Please, Sara…" he said, "I'd really like it if you'd join us."

"I'd rather not…" Sara said, "I'm not sure I want to spend an entire meal watching Sofia flirt with you."

Grissom looked embarrassed, "Well…"

"Are you… interested in Sofia?"

Grissom was surprised at the question, because he truly hadn't contemplated it. He looked back at Sara, who was waiting for his answer.

_He had to be honest._ That had become his mantra when it came to Sara; she deserved nothing less. But if he were honest, he would admit that the only woman who truly interested him was her.

He realized that he could answer her question without resorting to falsehoods. "No, I'm not interested in Sofia, not that way." It wasn't the whole truth, but it was certainly true.

Sara couldn't suppress a sigh of relief, and he couldn't help but notice.

"I think she is a good CSI, though," he added. "She certainly doesn't deserve what she's been through – what Ecklie's put her through. I don't want her to give up her career because Ecklie's a jerk."

"Ah, so you have to save yet another employee from the evil Conrad Ecklie," Sara teased.

"In a manner of speaking," he agreed. "But if you want the truth, she irritates me. I don't really like working a scene with her – that whole talking to herself thing, I can't get used to that." He shuddered comically at the thought of it.

Sara surprised herself by laughing.

"But even so, I still don't think she should quit." he tried again, "Sure you won't join us?"

Sara shook her head, and Grissom shrugged. He rose from the bench and walked towards the door.

"Are you going to take her to Passarella's?" Sara asked, and he turned to look at her.

"No," he turned back, looking puzzled. "I save Passarella's for special occasions."

Sara smiled at that and Grissom, marveling that he'd apparently said the right thing, sketched a goodbye wave as he left. She was still smiling as she watched him walk away.

* * *

He met Sofia that evening at a steakhouse just off the strip. Sofia's choice, the restaurant was all red leather and dark wood, almost oppressive. Now he was glad that Sara had declined the invitation – what would she eat in a place like this?

"So Sara decided not to join us?" Sofia asked as they sat.

"She… had something else planned." Sofia raised an eyebrow at him.

"I don't think Sara likes me very much," she said, shaking her head. "Another reason I probably shouldn't be on your team."

"Sara takes time to warm up to people," he stammered, frowning.

"Well, all the same, I just don't think this is going to work." Sofia looked over her menu. "I miss my old team, my colleagues… sleeping when it's dark…"

"The night shift isn't for everyone," he acknowledged, "but it's only temporary, I'm sure… I don't want you to make a rash decision just because Ecklie is an ass."

"I never really wanted to be a CSI anyway," Sofia said, setting the menu down, "Did you know my mother was a homicide captain?"

"Really?"

"Really," Sofia nodded. "My goal was to… follow in her footsteps."

"You were a police officer?"

"Mmm-hmm. Maybe I should go back to it."

"Quitting CSI abruptly isn't going to make it any easier to get into PD," he pointed out, "you'd be burning your bridges."

"Maybe," Sofia acknowledged.

The waitress appeared at that moment for their orders, and when they were finished, Sofia gave him a thoughtful look. "I'd hate to burn any bridges," she said.

"Then don't quit. Stick it out for a while longer, keep your eyes open for available positions, and if something comes up, I'll give you a stellar recommendation."

Sofia smiled. "And I'd feel bad about leaving you in the lurch," She admitted. "All right, you've convinced me."

"And before we've even been served," he joked.

"Good," Sofia said. "Now we can enjoy our dinner."

Grissom was surprised to find that he did enjoy their meal. They kept the conversation work related, and when they parted at their cars, Sofia held out her hand for a handshake.

"Thank you for a lovely dinner," she said. "We'll have to do it again sometime."

He looked at her, startled. Sofia leaned towards him and he wondered what on earth she was up to. Just when things had been going so well. "I'm not interested in you, Grissom," Sofia said, humor warming her tone, "and you're not interested in me. You know, our jobs are so serious, I try to lighten things up. I never thought you'd take me seriously. Next time, you should really talk Sara into joining us.."

He could only stare at her in shock, and Sofia seemed to find this very funny.

"See you tomorrow, Grissom." She climbed into her car, and he stood watching until he lost sight of it as she turned into traffic.

It was nearly 11:00pm, and he knew Sara had the night off too. He found himself driving the familiar route to her apartment.

* * *

Sara was curled up on her couch, reading. Or trying to. She couldn't help but wonder what Grissom was doing with Sofia, and the thought nagged at her. It was so distracting that she had already tried to read the same page several times.

A knock on her door startled her into dropping her book.

Who would be knocking at her door this late?

She looked through the peephole, smiled, and opened the door wide.

"Hi."

"Can I come in?" Grissom asked.

Sara's smile grew into a grin, and she stepped aside to let him in.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: As always, thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed! I hope everyone enjoys reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
Also, please note the rating has changed, in preparation for future chapters.

And a big thank you to wobbear for yet another extremely well done (and extremely speedy!) beta job.

Chapter Summary: We all have our own insecurities.

* * *

Chapter 6

"_Hold on my heart  
__Please tell her to be patient  
__Because there has never been a time  
__When I wanted something more"  
__Genesis, "Hold on My Heart" _

Sara was beginning to doubt Grissom's sanity.

He had showed up at her door the night of his dinner with Sofia, without explaining his presence, and they spent hours talking about nothing and everything, until dawn finally broke and they decided to find a diner for breakfast.

And suddenly that was a new ritual too – breakfast on days off, or after shift, whenever they managed to find the time. Breakfast and dinner – Sara was beginning to feel a little overwhelmed by all the attention. It was too much of a good thing, and she was scared that it might all end, that Grissom would suddenly step back from her, as he had done so many times before.

And yet he didn't.

_There was no doubt about it_, Sara thought,_ he had lost his mind._

But she wasn't complaining.

* * *

He vented to her one night, while they were in the middle of the Eiger case, about how Catherine still came to him with all of her problems, and yet bristled when he tried to help. He had tried to make peace with Catherine (at Sara's suggestion) over drinks with Brass at the Monaco one morning, and still she gave him trouble the next time he arrived at a scene before she did.

"She actually argued with me over a several week old decomp covered in bugs," Grissom told Sara that evening, after he had worked through most of the morning – after processing the insect evidence, he and Greg had been called to the scene of a 419 in a hotel room. He had left Greg to finish logging the evidence so he could get a few hours of sleep – which he cut short to meet Sara at "their" coffee shop before shift.

"Heavy lies the head that wears the crown," Sara quoted, and Grissom raised an eyebrow at her.

"You sound like me," he said glumly.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Sara teased.

"We don't need another me," he said.

"Well, you are one of a kind," Sara replied, her voice light. Grissom rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling.

* * *

Over the course of the following shift, they found themselves wrapped up in the case of Maurice Hudson, their DB in the hotel room, who had apparently suffocated after spending the night under something – or someone – heavy. In addition to a purple fiber in his mouth, a large sweat stain on the sheet and evidence of sex with at least two different women, he also had a convention nametag from the Tangiers, which is where Detective Vartann led Grissom and Greg the next morning, after discovering there was only one convention being held at the hotel that week.

"A hogs and heifers convention," Vartann explained derisively, after leading Greg and Grissom through the hotel to the pool area. "Hudson wasn't fat," Vartann continued, "What was he doing here?"

"Maybe he used to be?" Grissom suggested, watching a skinny man dancing with a larger woman while "I'm Every Woman" played over a loudspeaker.

"Or maybe he was a chubby chaser," Greg added, and Grissom looked over at him. "Hey, some men like curves," Greg shrugged.

"There's curves and then there's rolls," Vartann said. "Look. Have tons of fun. I've got a murder suicide to cover." He escaped – as quickly as he could – leaving Grissom and Greg to their investigation.

"Something heavy killed our vic," Grissom pointed out.

"Heavy object, heavy person." Greg agreed.

"Listen, pass this photo around the registration desk. Who knows? Maybe he did like big girls." Grissom handed the victim's driver's license photo to Greg.

"Where are you going?" Greg asked.

"I'm going dancing," Grissom joked, raising his eyebrows in a smile before making his way into the crowd. He showed the photo to a few of the dancing women, who shook their heads. One, who was moving to the music while sitting in a chair, gave the same response. He bent down to show it her.

"Never seen him before," she said, and as Grissom stood up, he noticed the purple camisole the woman was wearing – a possible match to the purple fiber, maybe? Unfortunately, she thought he was looking at something else.

"You see something you like?" she asked, moving her hands across her ample bosom.

"I'm sorry, I uh, noticed your lovely purple undergarment."

"I bought it here at the convention, honey." She waved her hand.

"You did? Thank you." He started to walk away, but was startled by an unexpected smack on the butt. Shocked, he turned back to look at the woman.

"Fat girl, gay guy," She shrugs, "It's not unheard of."

_Gay? Huh?_

He nodded uncomfortably, and then put as much distance between himself and the woman as he could.

Grissom decided to check out the vendors, hoping to find the one who was selling the purple lingerie, and he hit pay dirt early on, finding several silky pieces hanging from a hanger.

For a moment – one, uncontrollable moment – he imagined what Sara might look like in something like this, but he pushed the thought out of his mind. This was evidence, after all.

"That's some tickler you've got there." A tall woman approached from behind the vendor's table, her voice low and suggestive, startling Grissom from his momentary imaginings.

"Excuse me?"

The woman stroked her face to indicate what she was talking about, "You've got everything you need to please a woman."

He looked at her, surprised, "Do I?" He smiled and looked at the woman's name tag, "Regina? Um… can I ask you, is this silk or synthetic?"

"Oh, that's 100 silk," she purred.

"How many sets of these have you sold?"

"Four pre-orders and another 15 commissions. I even made a set for myself." She pulled her top aside slightly to reveal the purple lace beneath. "Men love purple."

"Do they?" he asked. Again that image of Sara. _Damn it, this was work._

"It's Purple Rain," she said, and in response to his puzzled look, continued, "Prince. Sexy. Custom color. You want it for the wife?"

"I'm not married."

"Girlfriend?" she asked.

"Nope."

"You want one?" she smiled.

_A girlfriend? Yes. One of the pieces of purple silk for a color comparison? That would also be yes._

"Yes I do," he winked. "I'd also like copies of your customer receipts."

Regina looked a little confused, but she agreed.

The receipts led to five different women – Regina included, as well as two of the women Greg had interviewed at the convention. Sara found herself assigned to collect DNA samples from the women, and the samples implicated two of them as having been with the victim before his death. Grissom volunteered to interview Regina, and Sara took the other woman – a shorter redhead named Brenda.

The testing of the samples, and the interrogations, lasted well into the morning. It was almost noon when Sara caught up with Grissom, and she was about to tell him that Brenda had confessed to Maurice Hudson's murder when she noticed how tired he looked.

_What the hell, _she thought_, it can wait_. "How long have you been on?" she asked.

"Since yesterday afternoon," he replied, rubbing his forehead, "Greg and I had to visit the convention during daylight hours, of course."

"Are you hungry?" Sara asked. She didn't want to go home alone.

"I am," he said, "I have some work to finish up, though."

"How about you come over for breakfast?" Sara rushed through her invitation, afraid she'd lose her nerve.

Grissom, surprised but pleased, readily agreed. "Sure," he said, "Give me an hour?"

"I'll see you in an hour."

Sara rushed home as soon as she could, realizing too late that she didn't have enough time to stop at the grocery store. Yanking open her refrigerator, she noted with dismay that she had invited someone over for breakfast with nothing in the kitchen but a full carton of eggs.

_All right_, she thought, _Scrambled eggs. I know how to make those._

She looked around, spotting a loaf of bread and the full fruit bowl on the counter, which eased her mind somewhat – eggs, toast and fruit. _That's a breakfast_, she thought,_ not much of one, but it's something_.

* * *

About an hour later, Grissom arrived at Sara's door.

He knocked once: no answer.

He knocked again.

Still no answer.

He was starting to worry as he knocked a third time.

"Coming!" he heard Sara yell. She opened the door, looking slightly breathless, holding a wooden spatula in one hand.

"Sorry," she gasped, "How many times did you knock?"

"Only three," he said, closing the door as she went back to the stove. "Smells good. What are we having?"

"Scrambled eggs," Sara said proudly, glancing over her shoulder at him while she stirred the eggs.

"That sounds good," he said, "I'm really hungry. We were so involved in the interrogations I didn't get a chance to eat. Did you?"

"No, actually," Sara suddenly realized that her last food was an apple over twelve hours ago, and she was starving. She wondered if she'd made enough for them both, and silently cursed her lack of experience in cooking for more than one person.

_I'm glad I didn't try dinner_, she thought.

"You need any help?" Grissom asked.

"No, no, you sit down," Sara ordered, pointing to the counter, and he sat."So, eggs and…" he asked, and Sara looked up.

"And?"

"Eggs are fine," he amended, and Sara gave him a sheepish smile. "No, I mean…" Sara stammered, but she was interrupted by the toaster.

"Toast," she said, "There's toast. I have peanut butter, or jam…" She fished the toast out, distributing it into plates and began rummaging around in the cabinet for the peanut butter she was sure was in there somewhere.

"Um, Sara? Are you sure you don't need any help?" he asked, and Sara shook her head as she continued her search.

"Because I think the eggs might be starting to overcook…" Grissom ventured, just as Sara found the peanut butter.

"Oh, crap," she muttered, slamming the jar down on the counter and returning to the eggs, which were just starting to stick. "I hope you like them well done," Sara made a face as she lifted the pan from the heat and began spooning the eggs on to plates.

"I do, actually," Even though he really didn't, he wasn't about to say so.

"Good," Sara said, "I um… also have fruit." She brought that over then handed him a plate of eggs as she grabbed a fork and knife from the drawer.

"Thank you," he said, and Sara smiled tentatively – he couldn't help but smile back. Sara looked frazzled but proud, and in that moment he realized that the eggs could have been burnt to a crisp and he still would have eaten them, proclaiming them to be the best ever, if he could only be the recipient of that adorably flustered smile even one more time.

After a few more minutes of rummaging around the kitchen, Sara finally set down her own plate and sat on the stool next to Grissom.

"Why aren't you eating?" she asked.

"I'm waiting for you.".

"Oh," Sara nodded, taking a bite of her eggs. They weren't great, but they were edible, and she was hungry. It looked like Grissom was too, and he wasn't making faces as he ate – which Sara took as a good sign.

"So how did the interrogation go?" he asked, "I didn't have a chance to ask you. I know you said she confessed, but…"

"Mmm," Sara said, swallowing the bite of eggs she had just taken, "It… was interesting."

"Interesting?"

"Yeah, she said she killed him. Said she was angry at him – and at herself – for letting him take advantage of her. Brenda has some serious self esteem issues," Sara said, "which I guess isn't exactly surprising. You missed seeing how the cops were acting when I got to PD to collect the swabs."

Grissom's mouth was full, so he raised his eyebrows to ask "How?"

"They were gathered in the halls, laughing, staring at the women, and Metcalf, the idiot, said 'Hey, be careful, you don't want to cause a stampede,' or something like that. I told him he'd be lucky if they didn't sue him for discrimination."

Grissom nodded, growing serious. "With the focus our society places on physical appearance," he said, "it's no wonder people develop insecurities."

"Yeah," Sara agreed, "I remember how it felt to be teased – this nasty little neighbor kid used to call me the Pillsbury dough-girl. I pretended it didn't bother me, but I used to go home and cry."

Grissom looked over at the slender woman beside him and raised his eyebrows again.

"Why in the world…"

"I was a chubby little kid," Sara said, "then I hit a growth spurt when I was about twelve, and the next thing you know, I was too skinny. Guess you can't win."

"Kids can be cruel," Grissom sighed. "I think we all have those memories."

"Yeah," Sara agreed. "Even you?"

"Even me."

"What did they call you?"

"I remember 'bug-boy' being my least favorite."

"Don't you get called 'bugman' even now?"

"Yes." He shrugged briefly. "I still hate it."

Sara filed that away in her memory, feeling relieved she'd never used that nickname.

"I was never good with other kids," he continued, "My mother worried I would become a social misfit. She was always encouraging me to bring friends home."

"Did you?"

"I never had many friends. And I was embarrassed by her sign language, having to translate everything – so I didn't. I think she was disappointed in me, but she never said so."

"Maybe she knew she embarrassed you." Sara said quietly, and Grissom nodded. "Maybe."

"I know what that's like." Sara moved the last of her eggs around on her plate. "I never had many friends, either."

Grissom nodded, and they sat in a strangely comfortable silence for a moment. Sara finished the last of her eggs and took an apple from the fruit bowl.

"Brenda told me 'I am a fat woman.'" Sara stared at the apple. "As if that's the explanation for all her insecurities, all the rejection she's faced in her life. But I'm not a fat woman, and I've got plenty of insecurities... What's my excuse?" Sara looked over at him.

Grissom shook his head, momentarily lost for words. Then he spoke, choosing his words carefully. "We all have insecurities. I worry about the fact that I've gained about twenty pounds in the last ten years." He shrugged, looking a little sad.

Sara wanted to tell him how handsome she thought he was, how she had barely noticed that he'd gained weight and didn't care besides, how she loved his grey hair because it was his hair, how expressive his eyes were, how his smiles made it hard for her not to smile back, no matter what he'd done. She wanted to tell him that she thought he was by far the most attractive man she'd ever met, and not entirely because of his looks, but because of something intangible, whatever it was that made him… Grissom.

But she couldn't. She was afraid he wouldn't appreciate it, and she wasn't ready to deal with any more rejection. _Better to play it safe_, she thought. "Yeah," she agreed, "I guess we are."

They sat in silence for a few more moments until Sara spoke up again. "I know it makes no sense, but I think Brenda looked at me and saw just another skinny woman, the kind that makes her life miserable. I know I shouldn't sympathize so much, but I really felt for her. I've been rejected, and I've been taken advantage of… "

Grissom flinched, wishing he was not part of that memory.

"…and I'm going to stop now." Sara bit her lip. "This is turning into a real downer of a conversation."

"You think she judged you because of your looks, the same way she's been judged?"

"Yeah, I do."

"That's one of the paradoxes of human nature," he reflected, "we don't want to be judged, but we do it all the time, sometimes in error."

Sara looked thoughtful. "You think people judge you."

It wasn't a question, but he answered it anyhow. "I'm an overweight middle aged man with graying hair who spends most of his time at work or with his bugs," Grissom said. "What do you think?"

_I think I love you_, Sara thought. "I think… I think there's a lot that you hide from people," Sara said, treading cautiously, "And I'm… glad that you've started to share some with me."

He met Sara's eyes and saw more than understanding there – he didn't have a word for what he saw, he only knew that it made him feel slightly dizzy with affection.

_Sara understands_.

He might have taken her in his arms at that moment and kissed her, had Sara's cell phone not started to ring. Sara took her time answering it, feeling more than a little resentful at whoever had picked this time to call her. "Sidle," she grumbled into the phone. "Yeah, Greg, what?" She listened for a bit. "You couldn't wait to tell me that until shift starts?" she said, "I'm not coming in early to look at the surveillance tapes, Greg, I'm tired. I'll see them tonight. What are you doing at the lab, anyway?" Whatever Greg's answer was made Sara laugh, "Oh. Great, well it's good that someone got some sleep, but now it's my turn, all right? See you later." She flipped the phone closed.

"Greg's in early." Grissom sighed, knowing his chance was past and wishing something heavy would fall on Greg Sanders.

"Yeah," Sara said ruefully. "He wants to show me something on the hotel surveillance."

"You're tired," Grissom stood, "I should go."

Sara felt like crying, but she nodded. "I'll see you later." She attempted a smile.

"Thank you for breakfast," he pulled on his jacket, "it was delicious."

"You were just hungry," Sara teased as she opened the door for him. He paused a moment before leaving, and Sara sensed his hesitation.

"I'll see you tonight," he said eventually.

"Yeah," Sara nodded. She shut the door behind him and started cleaning up, feeling unsettled and crabby. She wondered what had been going through his mind before her phone rang – his face had a look on it that she hadn't seen before.

_And I'll probably never see it again_, she thought_. Thanks, Greg_.

* * *

The two of them happened to arrive for shift at the same time that evening, and Sara filled Grissom in on the rest of the interrogation.

"There was more to that confession," Sara said as they walked through the hallway and Grissom raised his eyebrows. "Oh, yeah, we got distracted. What else did she say?"

"Brenda Morgan is claiming that she smothered the victim to death with a pillow."

"He wasn't killed with a pillow, C.O.D. was compressed asphyxia."

"She admits guilt, but she's hiding something."

"Maybe she's covering for someone else." Grissom suggested.

"We know Regina Owens was in that room, she claims she left the victim alive and Brenda is backing her up."

"Yeah, but she's a liar." Grissom said, and Sara tilted her head in acknowledgement.

"What did Greg want to show you?" he asked, still with a hint of irritation in his voice.

"I'm about to find out," Sara said as she headed into the AV lab.

The tape confirmed Brenda's account – she had spent the night in the victim's room – but it also confirmed the fact that Brenda was more than likely intoxicated when she did so, and Sara theorized that she passed out on top of the victim. She asked Greg to bring the sheets to toxicology while she went to find Grissom.

"I think it was an accident," Sara said, and Grissom took off his glasses to look at her.

"She was trashed," Sara continued, "if she passed out on top of the vic, and he couldn't move, that's your heavy object."

"It sounds plausible. I think we should test your hypothesis," Grissom said.

"I love a good experiment," Sara's face brightened.

"And I think I have the perfect guinea pig." Grissom gave her a small wink.

* * *

"How much does this thing weigh?" Greg asked, looking skeptically at the experiment Grissom and Sara had set up – a dummy, strapped to a pulley, lying on a bed.

"240 pounds at the moment," Grissom said as he tightened the straps. He looked at Greg, "We'll increase the weight incrementally, until you can't move."

"Well, I can't lift that," Greg stood with his arms crossed, "and if I can't, you can't." He pointed at Sara, since Grissom had already walked behind him to take the rope for the pulley. "This is a safety issue."

"Well, that's what the pulley is for, Greg, so relax, and lie down on your back," Sara said.

Greg looked at Sara, then up at the pulley. Then he climbed on to the bed. "You know, this is exactly like a dream I had once. Except it wasn't in a garage. And Grissom wasn't watching," he said to Sara, who gave him a 'stop flirting with me' smile, "That was a different dream."

Grissom raised the dummy and lowered it over Greg, and as the dummy's hand passed over Greg's face, he had an idea.

"How's it feel, dreamer?" Sara asked, leaning over to adjust the dummy's position.

"Like 240 pounds of pure woman," Greg managed to gasp.

"How's your breathing?" Grissom leaned over him.

Greg grunted and pushed the dummy aside. "Limited."

Grissom looked over at Sara. "Okay, add another forty pounds." If Greg could still move, the experiment wasn't complete – but he also relished the idea of lowering something heavy on to Greg Sanders.

_Flirt with my Sara, will you?_

Sara gave him a small wink and added the weight, suppressing her own smile. She strapped more weight on to the dummy and pulled the straps to tighten it. "Ready." She helped Grissom lower the dummy down on to Greg, who groaned as the bed creaked under the weight. Grissom let go of the rope for a moment.

"Well, the position's consistent with the victim. Face up, right arm is pinned." He pointed out.

"If we could leave the dummy on long enough," Sara remarked innocently, "we could actually match the blanching."

Greg started groaning and waving his free arm. "Yeah, guys, help," he grunted. Grissom looked back at Sara.

"Oh." He raised the dummy. Sara helped maneuver the weight away from Greg, who sat up gasping. "280 pounds." Grissom cocked his head at Sara.

"Brenda's just shy of three," Sara said.

Greg limped off while Sara – armed with the results of their experiment and the tox results - went back to PD to re-interrogate Brenda. Grissom found him an hour later, paging through a catalog in the break room.

"I finally regained feeling in my spine, thanks for asking." Greg sounded grouchy.

_Serves you right_, Grissom thought, _first you ruin my morning and then you flirt with Sara right under my nose. You're lucky I didn't leave it on longer._ He looked over at Greg's catalog – full figured women wearing lingerie, something he more than likely picked up at the convention.

"A little technical reading, Greg?"

"Yeah, I guess I just wanted to see what the big deal is." Greg didn't take his eyes off the pages.

"Attraction is subjective," Grissom said as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "It can't be analyzed."

_Lord knows I've tried_.

"Yeah, I consider myself to be pretty open-minded," Greg said. "I find other people's predilections pretty intriguing. What do you like? What gets your juices flowing?"

Grissom thought back to the moment Greg had interrupted, to the look in Sara's eyes. "Someone who doesn't judge me," he said, taking his coffee and walking back to his office.

* * *

"So what's going to happen to Brenda Morgan?" Grissom asked Sara that morning. He'd brought breakfast, and after they'd finished eating they ended up on opposite ends of Sara's couch, feeling full and sleepy.

"I don't know," Sara shook her head. "It was an accident, but she did kill him, so… I'm just hoping the DA will do something where it can be kept quiet, you know? Because that's why she lied – she'd rather be a murderer than a punch line, and I can understand that."

"So can I," Grissom agreed.

"Do we have any more of those chocolate covered strawberries you brought?" Sara looked over at the counter.

"No, I think you ate them all. I only had one."

Sara rolled her head over towards him. She pouted."I was hungry."

"You should eat more. I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen you take a lunch break."

"Yeah." Sara sounded sheepish. "I kind of get in the zone when it comes to work. But those strawberries were goooood." She drew out the last word, and Grissom had to laugh.

"You never fail to amaze me. I always thought you ate only beans and sprouts, that kind of thing."

Sara snorted with laughter. "Just because I'm a vegetarian does not make me a healthy eater – not all of the time, anyway. I occasionally have a weakness for junk food – it just has to be vegetarian junk food. Strawberries and chocolate qualify… why'd you bring dessert, anyway?"

"Because I wanted to," he said, which earned another laugh from Sara. He joined in and leaned his head back on the couch cushions.

"Besides," Sara continued, "if I didn't eat, would I be stuck with this belly that I can't get rid of?"

Grissom looked over at her, and then placed his hand on his own stomach.

"Well," he said, "mine isn't exactly flat. But I like your little belly, I think it's cute." Then he did something that Sara in her wildest dreams never would have expected.

He reached over and tickled her.

Sara convulsed with laughter, partly because her stomach was the most ticklish place on her body, but also out of shock and surprise. "Ack!" she gasped, "stop, stop, that tickles!"

He had a devilish look in his eye, though, and didn't stop, although he was gentle enough that she could have pushed his hands away if she'd really wanted to.

She didn't.

She reached for him, looking for a good spot to get him back, and soon they were a laughing, gasping tangle of arms and legs, and too intertwined to pull apart when they lost their collective balance and went sliding off of the couch. Grissom landed on the floor with a thud, pulling Sara down with him.

"You okay?" she asked, the words broken by stray giggles.

"Yeah," he gasped, "you?"

"Yeah." Sara bit her lip. They were so close. Her face was only a few inches from his, and the rest of her was sprawled across him, the closest they'd ever been. It would have been so easy to kiss her. And oh, God, how he wanted to.

And yet he couldn't do it.

He prayed his body wouldn't react, because in Sara's position there was no way she wouldn't notice it. But at the same time, he didn't want her to move. She seemed just as hesitant, looking down at him and chewing on her lower lip.

"Um," she stammered, "I, um…"

"Yeah," he said, and Sara slowly pulled herself back up on the couch. Grissom followed, and Sara looked over at him.

"Did you just tickle me?" she asked.

"Yeah, I did." He sounded as surprised as she did. He was having trouble catching his breath – he could still feel Sara's body spread across him.

And yet he'd lost another moment.

If he could have it over again he would kiss her - and he'd never be able to stop.

Sara was looking over at him. "Grissom?"

"Yeah?"

"I am so going to get you for that." Her laughter was contagious.

He knew Sara was exhausted, and he took that as his excuse to leave, saying he was tired, too.

He was too wound up to sleep, though. Even after he climbed into bed, he lay there, staring up at the ceiling, his mind racing. He couldn't shake the feel of Sara, something he had imagined many times but had never yet experienced – he'd known that if he ever did, he would never be able to resist.

He felt his body begin to respond to his swirling mind, and he took himself into his hand. He had done this many, many times before, imagining Sara, but now the fantasy had a realism that was impossible to fight, the feel of Sara's skin against his, her breath on his face, her lips just inches away. His hand became her hands, her lips, her core, wrapped around him, enveloping him. He could hear her whispering his name – Gil now, not Grissom – and he could see her warm brown eyes , first open with love and then closed with desire.

Soon, very soon he his release came, the hot liquid spilling over his hand. Her name echoed on his lips.

He lay there for a moment, knowing he had to move to clean up; he would, but for now he was completely spent.

_Friendship be damned_, he thought, _it's not enough_.

He made a resolution as he lay there, trying to catch his breath.

No matter what, he was going to have to kiss Sara Sidle.

As soon as possible.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: As always, thank you so, so, _so_ much to everyone who has reviewed! I know this chapter is shorter than usual, but hopefully the content makes up for it.  
Also, please note the rating has changed, in preparation for future chapters.

And a big thank you to wobbear for putting up with me and for being a wonderful beta reader.

Chapter Summary: It's all about timing. Good, bad or... otherwise.

* * *

Chapter 7

"_But all the promises we break  
__From the cradle to the grave  
__When all I want is you…"  
- U2 _"_All I Want is You" _

The unfortunate nature of his job struck Grissom the day after he resolved to move his relationship with Sara forward – he and Sara were called to the scene of a brutal rape and murder, the sort of case that could sap the romance out of just about anyone.

Despite the fact that there was no way she could have known, Sara seemed determined not to let him forget. She had never looked more beautiful, and she went after the case with a strength and intelligence he wished he could match. Even Greg seemed at his best, and he couldn't disguise his pride in his team. Sara seemed especially pleased.

But the entire case gave him the beginnings of a migraine. The final suspect, the man who was eventually charged, was a compulsive serial rapist – a husband and father who worked as a hotel manager and in his spare time raped and killed flight attendants.

The case meant that they had almost no time together until it was wrapped – they were both pulling doubles. They managed to find an hour to take a dinner break together, but even that had taken effort.

Sara filled him in on the case as they ate, sharing her excitement at the new background subtraction algorithm they'd used to isolate the first suspect's fingerprint. She was positively beaming as she explained how she'd managed to trick the man's wife into believing they'd left because she knew that the woman would call him the minute they were out the door. Grissom had heard part of the story before – when they were going over the call information – but Sara was on a roll, and he let her talk. He enjoyed watching her when she was happy.

"You're quiet," Sara commented after she stopped to take a breath.

"I was listening to you."

Sara frowned. "I'm not that fascinating."

"Sure you are," he replied.

Sara was stunned into silence for a moment.

_He's joking_, she thought, _he has to be._

"Ha ha," she said, and he responded with one of his unreadable smiles.

* * *

He was quiet through the rest of their meal, however, and through the next few days as they worked through the case. Sara was happy when they had their confession – not only did they get a psycho off the streets, but maybe now they could go back to normal – the new normal, that is, the normal that included dinners and breakfasts and time spent together. After she finished her shift that morning, she went in search of Grissom.

It was no surprise to find him in his office scowling at paperwork. She poked her head in the doorway.

"Aren't you off yet?" He shook his head wearily. "I wish," he said, gesturing towards his reports. Sara nodded in understanding.

"Well, I was wondering if you'd like to come over for breakfast – or lunch, now, I guess."

"Sure," he said, happy at the invitation, "I need about an hour, is that all right?"

"Yeah, that's good. I was going to stop and pick up something, any preference?"

"Whatever is fine." He rubbed his forehead and Sara frowned. "You don't have to come over. If you're tired…"

"No," he said quickly, afraid he'd offended her, "I'd like to. It'll be my reward for finishing this paperwork."

The migraine that had been circling all week pricked at the back of his eyes as he left the lab, and for a moment he considered calling Sara to say he was going home – but only for a moment. A part of him just needed to be near her, migraine or no. But by the time he was knocking on Sara's door, the headache had started to set in for real, and even the sight of her smile when she opened the door could not chase it away.

* * *

Sara noticed something was wrong as they were eating – Grissom was unusually quiet, even for him, responding to her with nods and "mmm-hmm's." Sara started to feel a little hurt. _If he didn't want to talk to her, then why did he agree to come over? Maybe something was wrong._

"Are you all right?" she finally asked, and Grissom looked up at her, bleary-eyed.

"Yeah," he replied automatically, but Sara didn't buy it. "You don't look all right," she said, her hurt turning to concern. "Are you sure?"

He sighed. "Migraines," he said quietly. "I get them every so often, and apparently today is the day."

Sara tilted her head in sympathy. "Do you take anything for them?"

"I have a prescription," he admitted. "I was hoping I wouldn't need it. I should probably go…"

"Do you have any with you?"

"I keep a spare bottle in the glove compartment of my car," he said, rubbing his forehead.

Sara slid off of her stool, and put her hands on his waist, prompting him to stand. She led him slowly over to the couch. "Lie down."

"Sara…"

Sara raised her eyebrow. "Lie down."

He decided not to fight her. Besides, lying down seemed like a good idea. Sara disappeared into the other room, returning with a pillow, which she placed under his head. She moved over to the windows to shut the blinds, darkening the room.

"My roommate in college used to get these horrible migraines," Sara supplied, speaking quietly, "right before exams, usually. I had to pick her up off of the floor a few times." She walked back over to Grissom and held out her hand, and he gave her a puzzled look. "Your keys, please. You said your meds are in the glove compartment."

He fished his keys out of his pocket and placed them in Sara's hand. Sara took a moment to smile at the beetle-shaped keychain as she headed for the door. "I'll be right back."

"Sara…" He wasn't sure why he was attempting to stop her.

"I'll be right back," Sara repeated. "You stay there."

Sara hurried down the stairs and unlocked Grissom's car with the remote. As she opened the door she reflected how strange this was; she'd been in Grissom's car before, but never alone, and she'd certainly never gone rooting around. She took an almost instinctive look around the car – she'd processed too many over the years. There was a pair of sunglasses clipped to the visor, a folded newspaper on the passenger seat, his lab parking permit attached to the windshield, everything exactly in place, just as she would have expected. The glove compartment held several maps, a few slightly crumpled napkins, a small first-aid kit, a spare pair of sunglasses and – finally – a prescription bottle. She locked the door and headed back up the stairs.

Grissom was still lying on the couch, one arm thrown over his forehead. Sara noticed that he'd taken off his shoes, now neatly paired by the coffee table, and that his socks were charcoal gray. His feet were dangling over the arm of the couch, and the sight sent another surge of warmth and affection through her – if he'd been feeling better she would have given in to the urge to tickle his feet.

Instead she poured a glass of water and brought it to him along with the pills, gently touching his shoulder to rouse him. "Here you are," she said, perching on the edge of the couch, and he sat up slightly to take the medication, chasing it down with a long swig of water.

"Thank you, but I should really go." His protest was weak, and Sara gave him a look.

"No, you shouldn't," she said. "You shouldn't drive with a migraine, and besides, you're over here all the time anyway – relax, Grissom, it's okay."

She smiled at him as she rose to take the glass back to the kitchen. He watched her through half-closed eyes, cursing the bad timing of his unpredictable headaches. This would have been such a good opportunity, but it was gone again. His eyes closed to the sound of Sara quietly cleaning up after their lunch; he could tell she was making a special effort not to disturb him, but he was still aware of her presence.

_She was too kind to him, too loyal._ He wondered exactly how a woman who had probably never really experienced kindness in her life had become such a caring person, so good hearted.

_I don't deserve her_, he thought as he listened to Sara's soft footsteps moving around the apartment. She must have thought he was already asleep, because she bent over him to drape a blanket across his body – and then she gently brushed her lips across his forehead.

He was too drowsy and in too much pain to respond, although he wanted to, and he drifted off to sleep hoping the feel of her lips on his skin wasn't a dream.

* * *

He awoke several hours later in a dark apartment, and it took him a few minutes to remember where he was.

_Oh, right. Migraine. Sara covering me with a blanket. _

_Sara kissing my forehead_.

The apartment was eerily quiet, and he sat up tentatively, rubbing his forehead. The pain was mostly gone, leaving only the drowsy, woozy feeling that came from the medication. It was familiar, at least, if not entirely welcome.

For a moment he wondered if Sara had left – _but it was her apartment, where else would she go?_

Would she really go to work and leave him there?

He stood up slowly and looked around. Except for the bathroom, there was only one other room in the apartment.

Sara's bedroom.

Sara's bedroom – that was enough to make him nervous on a good day. But he had to know if she was still there – he found the idea of being left alone in her home unsettling.

The door was open just a crack, and a sliver of light fell across the hallway floor. Gently, he pushed the door open to see inside. Sara was lying on her bed, sound asleep, a book lying across her chest, her reading lamp illuminating her face. He felt a rush of relief at the sight of her, followed just as quickly by a dizzying swell of warmth – _dear God, she was too beautiful. _

She was too much, she was everything he so desperately wanted, she always had been. He did not deserve this beauty in his life, he had done everything wrong, he had hurt her and probably would hurt her, and she would love him anyway because she was Sara and he did not deserve her.

He wondered for a brief moment what would happen if he passed out in her bedroom doorway, because at this moment it felt like a distinct possibility.

Sara's eyes fluttered, then opened, and she jumped. "Grissom," she said, shaking the sleep from her head, "what are you doing up?" She sat up, looking surprised when the book fell into her lap, and her eyes widened at the sight of his face. "Are you all right?" she asked, sliding out of bed and hurrying over to him.

"I… I wondered where you were," he stammered.

"You should lie down," Sara said, "you look really pale."

"No, no, I'm fine," he insisted. "Really. My headache is gone."

"Really?" Sara sounded skeptical. She was standing right beside him, and she put one arm around his back and the other on his chest – she was almost hugging him.

"Really," he repeated, looking at Sara's worried face, "I…" He couldn't think of what to say. And then he realized that he didn't need to say anything.

He had his moment.

Sara had been shocked out of sleep by the look on Grissom's face as he stood in her doorway, looking pale and shaky, as if something had hit him in the chest. She was worried he might fall over if she didn't support him. But once she had touched him, his face changed. His eyes had gone from dazed to focused and intense once they locked with hers, and realization crashed its way through her brain before she could really make sense of the thought.

_He's going to kiss me_.

And then he _was_ kissing her, his lips pressed against hers, his arms pulling her close, and he smelled like soap and sweat and _Grissom_, and his lips were softer than she'd even imagined, and her knees went weak and she wasn't sure she could keep standing if he kept kissing her like _that_.

He broke contact with her lips and took a deep, shaky breath, but he didn't let go. He rested his forehead against hers, and they stood for a moment, just breathing together. Sara knew he was trembling, but so was she, and she couldn't quite tell where he ended and she began.

He was so warm, and so soft. She could have melted into him, kissed him again and again, but a chill ran through her and she yanked herself back.

He looked startled as she nearly pushed him out of her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind them. She wrapped her arms around her waist and stood facing him.

"You can't do this." Her voice was low and unsteady. "You can't do this to me."

"Sara, I…" He stepped towards her, but Sara stepped back, holding her hands up as if to defend herself.

"No. No." She repeated, shaking her head, "You can't. I mean… you can't."

He bit his lip. He didn't deserve her, and she knew it. _She was saying no. _The rational part of his brain told him to leave, to gather his shoes and jacket and go, but he couldn't seem to move.

"You can't… you can't keep pulling me in and pushing me away," Sara was nearly yelling.

"Pushing you away?"

"Yes," Sara gasped, tears tightening her voice, "this is what you do, you make me believe it's possible and then…" She stopped to catch her breath, and he moved towards her. She couldn't retreat any farther – she was pressed against the bedroom door.

"Sara," he put his hands on her arms, taking it as a good sign when she didn't move, "I don't want to push you away. I'm not going to."

Sara couldn't look at him. Her head was spinning. She'd gone from being dumbstruck to angry to overwhelmingly happy, all in the space of a few minutes. She wanted to cry. She wanted to smack him. She wanted to kiss him again.

"I know I have a lot to make up for," His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. "I'm trying, Sara, I really am."

"Do it again," Sara whispered. He reached over and took her chin in his hand, making her look at him. Then he leaned in and kissed her again, more urgently this time, with all of the force of years of waiting, wanting, dreaming of this.

But none of the dreams were ever quite this good.

* * *

Grissom had to pull back, even though it was the last thing he wanted, to catch his breath and his balance. He was still slightly unsteady from the migraine, and Sara sensed this. She raised her hand to stroke the side of his face and smiled.

"It's almost eleven o'clock," She pointed out, and he nodded. "I should get to work," he said.

"You still look a little off," He frowned at that. "I mean from your headache," she continued, "maybe you should call in sick."

He looked surprised, as if the idea had never occurred to him. "I've gone in with a migraine before."

"I'm sure you have," Sara said, her gentle fingers still stroking the side of his face, "but maybe tonight you should take it easy."

"Easy?" he asked.

"Yes," Sara nodded, "and I actually mean rest, not anything else… yet."

"Yet," he repeated, and Sara laughed.

"Why are you repeating everything I say?" She led him back to the couch, picking up his discarded jacket on the way. She sat down beside him and found his cell phone in one of the pockets.

"For me?" She asked, handing him the phone.

"Well, when you put it like that..." He took it and began to dial.

* * *

"So," Sara asked, several hours later, "how long have you wanted to do that?"

Grissom looked up at her. They had ended up on the couch with his head in her lap as they watched an old movie on TV. She was running her hand through his curls and he was wondering if he had ever felt this comfortable in his life. He had just decided he hadn't when Sara spoke.

He thought for a moment.

_He had to be honest__._

"I've wanted to kiss you since… since I met you."

"Why didn't you?"

He had to think again. All of the justifications he had used throughout the years to say why he couldn't have Sara - her age, his age, the risks inherent in relationships, their careers, the fact that he still felt like didn't deserve her –swirled through his mind.

Then she ran her hand through his hair again and he forgot them all.

"I should have," he said.

Sara smiled, but when her smile faded, she looked almost… nervous. "What happens now?" she asked.

"We watch the rest of the movie?" Sara gave him a look of exasperation.

"You know what I mean."

"I don't know," he admitted, and Sara sighed. She'd known that was coming. At least she'd had a few hours of happiness.

"All I know is that I want to kiss you again," he continued, sitting up and pulling her into his arms. "I have years to make up for, you know."

Sara almost laughed with relief.

"Well, then," she said, "What are you waiting for?"

* * *

(No, it's not over yet! TBC...)


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: As always, thank you so, so, _so_ much to everyone who has reviewed!

And another big thank you goes to wobbear for being a very patient beta reader.

Chapter Summary: The course of true love sometimes has to run through a few distractions...

* * *

Chapter 8

"_All my empty words of love  
__Can never screen the flash I feel  
__Or make you understand  
__Oh, honey, can't you see?  
__I know it's real, it's got to be  
__Why not chase it where it goes?"  
__-" Rose Darling," Steely Dan_

Kisses were supposed to be the beginning of a relationship, Sara reflected as she prepared for her shift one evening, not the end.

Well, that was over dramatic – it wasn't as if their relationship had ended, not at all. Grissom had just dropped her off after they'd eaten dinner at Passarella's again – and he'd given her a gentle goodbye kiss before she got out of the car.

But that was it.

She'd lost count of how many kisses she'd received over the past few days, and they never failed to make her a little weak in the knees. She'd been worried he would pull away from her, that their relationship would lose some of its comfort and ease because it had started inching towards romance.

Her worries were probably misplaced – the friendship remained strong, but he seemed content with just kisses and soft caresses. Sara was beginning to wonder if that was as far as he planned to go.

She had thought of moving things forward herself, but she was… well, truthfully, she was scared. She had wanted this for so long, and she felt as if it were still fragile. She was terrified of breaking it, terrified of pushing too hard and watching Grissom retreat into his shell again.

So she didn't push. She would just… wait. Wait… and hope.

* * *

She had just arrived at the lab when Grissom told her to get ready to go. He outlined the scene."DB out in the Southern Highlands, possible arson, he was caught in a brush fire."

"Ooh," Sara made a face, "I hate the crispy ones."

Grissom nodded sympathetically. "Meet you at the truck," he said.

Grissom appeared to have used up all of his conversation at the restaurant, but he seemed happy enough as they drove. He had turned on the radio and was humming quietly along with Paul Simon.

_Grissom is actually humming_, she thought, _he _has_ lost his mind_. _But he's in a good mood…_

"Hey, Griss?" she asked, and he glanced over at her. "Yeah?"

"I have a question…"

He glanced at her again, his eyebrows raised.

"Um… I really… oh, I don't…"

Now he looked worried. He turned down the radio.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Never mind." She sighed. She couldn't find the right words. "Is this it?" she asked instead, catching the lights of the fire trucks on the road ahead.

"Looks like it… what is it, Sara?"

"Nothing. Really. Let's get to work." He parked the SUV behind one of the fire trucks, and she yanked the door open before he had a chance to say anything more.

* * *

The body was decidedly crispy, and the fire chief who had arrived at the scene before them gave them a quick explanation of what had happened as they began to work.

"Local homeowner called it in early. We got it contained pretty quickly. We were lucky."

Sara snapped a few photos as Grissom looked over the body, "Luckier than he was," he commented. Sara looked over at him as he continued, "Low humidity, dry brush… perfect conditions for maximum damage."

"Firebugs listen to the weather reports just like we do. Only for different reasons," the fire chief added.

"Maybe some moron just threw a cigarette out the car window," Sara commented.

"You're an optimist," the fire chief smirked at her.

"Do you have a point of origin?" Grissom hoped to distract Sara from responding to the fire chief, because he could tell they were rubbing each other the wrong way.

_What happened? She'd been in such a good mood at dinner._

"Not yet. Fire spread down the slope…" The fire chief stood, and Grissom joined him, "Probably started along top of the ridge. I'll give you a shout when it's safe to come up." He started up the slope.

"Okay, Mom," Sara called after him.

Grissom looked up at the stars, spread out across the night sky. They were just far enough from the lights of the Strip for the stars to be visible, and they were beautiful. How long had it been since he had really looked at them? "This area was always a good place for stargazing," he said, still looking up at the sky. Sara was crouched by the body, taking photos.

"It's a good make-out spot, too. So I've heard." Sara's voice still carried the serious tone she'd been using with the fire chief.

He looked down at her in surprise, but she didn't raise her head to meet his gaze. Instead, she took another photo.

_What does that mean?_ he wondered._ He could take Sara stargazing… or other things… now that was an idea_. He looked up at the firemen dousing the flames along the top of the ridge, and he decided to explore a little further. He felt a need to distance himself from Sara –this was work, he had to stay focused.

He moved his flashlight across the burned area, and something caught the corner of his eye. A pair of badly burned feet.

He moved in closer, and discovered the body of a woman lying in the brush. "Sara!" he called, "We've got another body." As if in response to the sound of his voice, the body opened her eyes and looked up at him.

"Get the paramedics!" he shouted.

* * *

Grissom called Greg to process the victim at the hospital while he remained at the scene with Sara well into the morning. They were both tired by the time they got back to the lab.

"You can take off," he said to Sara as they began unloading the SUV at the lab, "I can finish."

"No, I'll help you," Sara replied, and together they headed into the layout room and began working on the process of logging the evidence. "Are you sure it was such a good idea to send Greg to the hospital?" Sara asked as they worked.

"It will be good experience for him – why?"

"Don't you remember? Lab explosion? The burns on his back?"

Grissom groaned. "I remember now," he said, "I'll check on him later."

Sara gave him a half smile, and they worked in silence for a few more minutes.

"Sara? What was it you wanted to ask me earlier?"

"Oh… never mind." Sara sighed as she reached for the burned out lighter she'd found at the scene.

"Sara," he lowered his voice a few notches, "Please."

"It's not something we should talk about here, okay?"

"Oh." he nodded. "Breakfast?"

"It's already noon, Grissom." Sara wasn't looking at him, but she was smiling.

"All right, a late breakfast."

"The faster we log, the faster we can go eat," Sara said. "So hurry up, I'm hungry."

They met at the diner, but just as Grissom was about to return to Sara's question, they were interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Well hey, look who's here!" Nick had a wide smile on his face as he slid into the booth beside Sara. "Long time no see, you guys," Nick continued, "Long night?"

"We were processing an arson scene," Grissom said, trying not to show Nick his disappointment. He was happy to see Nick – it was a rare occurrence since Ecklie had split up his team – but he was also wondering why he picked the diner for his lunch with Sara._ Next time, we are going to go someplace _not_ frequented by cops and CSIs. _

"Heading in early, Nick?" Sara asked.

"Yeah, middle of a hot one," he said, signaling the waitress, "a family found dead in their house – possible murder-suicide."

"We were working a DB at the arson scene." Sara finished a bite of her sandwich before she continued, "And then we thought we found another body, but she turned out to be alive."

"Really?" Nick sounded incredulous. Nick and Sara began discussing their cases, and the rest of lunch passed quickly – too quickly. Before Grissom knew it, they were leaving the diner.

"I guess we should try to get a few hours of sleep." Sara waved goodbye to Nick as he drove away. "I'll see you at the lab later?"

"Yeah," Grissom nodded, sadly.

"What?" Sara asked.

"We didn't get a chance to talk," he said, and Sara shook her head. "It wasn't that important, really."

"Are you sure?"

Sara thought for a moment. "I'm sure. Besides, we'll have time to talk later. Don't worry." Sara climbed into her car and gave him a goodbye smile as she drove away.

_She's right_, he thought, _we'll have time later_.

* * *

For the next several days, however, time for anything but work and sleep escaped them as they worked doubles to wrap up the Matthews case. The morning after they finally had their confession, Grissom decided he had to see Sara – he would make time, no matter what.

He found Sara working on her final report in the layout room, her head bent over her paperwork, one strand of hair falling rather adorably into her face, and he had to smile before interrupting her.

"You almost done?" Sara jumped.

"Geez, Grissom!" Sara exclaimed "You should warn a person before you do that."

"I'm sorry. Are you almost done?"

"Yeah, I am, actually," she replied, glancing over her report. "I just need to cross some t's and dot some i's here…"

He glanced around to make sure they were alone, then lowered his voice. "Would you like to come over for breakfast?"

Sara's eyes widened in surprise. "You're asking me over?"

Grissom shrugged. "I think I owe you, don't I? You made breakfast for me, and we've never been to my place before…"

"I've been to your place before," Sara reminded him, "but not since… well, not recently."

"Why don't we change that?" He asked, "And we'll have a chance to talk."

"All right." Sara smiled and nodded.

"I'll meet you there in about an hour?"

"I'll be ready."

* * *

Sara was surprised by how nervous she was as she knocked at the door to Grissom's townhouse. They'd spent so much time together over the past few months, but it had all been at her place. As she stood waiting, she appreciated for the first time how hard it must have been for Grissom to leave his own comfort zone for so many nights to come to her.

He opened the door wearing an apron, and he smiled widely at her as he ushered her inside. "Perfect timing," he said, "I just finished the last batch."

"What did you make?" Sara asked as he returned to the kitchen.

"Pancakes," he called over his shoulder in answer. "I thought we should try something different."

"I love pancakes." Sara pulled up a stool at his counter, and he turned to her, his eyes twinkling.

"I know you do. I do pay attention to what you order at the diner, you know."

"Oh, really?" Sara raised an eyebrow.

"Well," he amended, "I do since you reminded me I should pay attention."

Sara blushed, remembering. "Yeah, I really flew off the handle that day, didn't I?"

"Not at all," He set a plate and a glass of orange juice in front of her, "I think you had every right to be unhappy with me." He set out syrup and butter, and then sat on the stool next to her.

"I'm not unhappy with you now." Sara gave him a smile.

"You sure?"

"What?"

"You… sounded a little off the other morning," he reminded her. "We haven't had a chance to talk since, and…"

"Oh, that…" Sara remembered. "You know…" She looked over at Grissom, and decided to throw caution to the wind – after he finished his mouthful of pancake.

She leaned over to him and gave him a kiss on the lips, which he returned in his usual gentle fashion. Without breaking contact, Sara slid off of her stool and took him into her arms, deepening the kiss. He seemed to freeze briefly, but then he reached over and pulled her in, wrapping his arms around her. Her hands slid up into his curls as he began kissing her neck.

"Oh," Sara moaned, "that, that's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about, to tell you that you should do that…"

He murmured something in agreement, then returned his attentions to her neck. His fingers slipped tentatively under her shirt, and she shivered at the touch of his hands on her skin. She bent her head to capture his lips again, and he pulled her closer, kissing her enthusiastically until she pulled away to catch her breath.

"Why haven't you done that before?" Sara asked, her voice shaky.

"Because I didn't think I'd be able to stop if I did," he admitted, sounding as breathless as she did.

"Who said you should stop?"

He cupped her chin in his hand and began kissing her again. He slid off of his stool and pressed her back against the kitchen counter, moving his lips down her neck and towards her collar, and in response Sara began tugging at his shirt, trying to pull it from his belt so she could touch his skin. She reached her other arm out to brace herself against the counter – and promptly knocked over her glass of juice, which spilled across the countertop and rolled to the floor, breaking both the glass and the mood.

"I – Oh, I'm sorry…

"It's okay," Grissom said, "Let me clean that up."

Sara stepped out of the way, careful of the broken glass, and watched as Grissom swept up the pieces and threw them away. "I am so sorry," she repeated, and he shook his head.

"I guess we got a little carried away," His face was red, his curls were tousled, and his shirt tail was hanging out on one side. Sara bit her lip. She could still taste him on her lips, feel his hands on her skin, and she wondered if she looked as undone as he did.

"Carried away?" she asked. He nodded, and Sara felt her heart sink.

"Next time we do that," he continued, "we need to make sure there are no obstacles."

"I thought…" she hesitated, "I thought maybe… maybe you'd think I was being too pushy."

He looked thoughtful, then shook his head. "No, not at all…" He took a few moments, then looked back up at her. "Sara," he sighed, "I have no idea what I'm doing here."

Fear curled in Sara's stomach. "You don't?"

"No," he shook his head again, "I have no idea how fast to move here… but…"

"What?" Sara desperately wished he would get to the point.

"This is too important, Sara," he said seriously, "I want everything to be…"

"What?" She asked again.

"Perfect," He looked down at the floor.

"Oh…" Sara breathed a sigh of relief, "Grissom, I don't need perfect."

"What do you need?" He asked, his voice low.

"You." Sara shrugged, and his eyes softened with relief. After a long moment, he reached into the cabinet and pulled out a glass, refilling it with juice.

"We should… finish our breakfast." He set the glass in front of her.

* * *

Once she had a full stomach, Sara realized that she was exhausted, and Grissom gave her a bemused smile when he caught her trying to hide a yawn.

"Tired?"

Sara looked embarrassed. "Yeah," she admitted, "this always happens. It's better if I don't stop moving, because if I do, I crash. Plus, I always get sleepy after a big meal."

"That wasn't a big meal."

"It was for me."

"You don't eat enough. You need to eat more. And sleep more."

"I'm fine," Sara rolled her eyes at him as he finished loading the dishwasher. "I'm not even that tired."

"Sure you're not," he teased. Sara made a face at him and walked over to his bookshelf, trying to wake herself up. Grissom sat on his couch and leaned his head back as he watched her.

"Sit down," he said after a few minutes, "you're making me nervous."

Sara narrowed her eyes at him as she walked over. "I should get going…" she said, as she sat down and yawned again.

"No, you shouldn't, because then I'll have to stay up and work the scene of your accident when you fall asleep at the wheel."

Sara gave him another look. "Okay," she agreed, "I'll just sit here for a few minutes and get some of my energy back."

"Good idea." Grissom picked up his newspaper and glanced through the headlines for a few minutes,. "Hey, take a look at…" He looked over at Sara, intending to show her the article, but found her fast asleep, her head leaning to one side.

_Good_, he thought, _she needs her sleep_. He had every intention of leaving her to her nap, but he was too tired. He decided he would just close his eyes for a second before getting up…

* * *

—Ring, Ring.

_Someone turn that thing off_, Sara thought, _I don't want to get up yet_.

—Ring, Ring.

_Where's the snooze button on this thing?_

—Ring, Ring.

_Oh, wait. That's not my alarm. That's my cell phone._

Sara opened her eyes and tried to reach for the phone, which she usually kept on her nightstand.

But where was her nightstand?

—Ring, Ring.

"Whose is that?" Grissom's voice startled Sara. At some point as she slept she had curled up with her head resting against his side. She sat up as quickly as she could, embarrassed.

"Mine, I think." She finally spotted her jacket hanging on the back of a chair, and she stumbled over and fished the phone out of her pocket, by which time it had stopped ringing. She glanced at the display and redialed the number.

"Yeah, you called? But I just… everyone? Really? All right, I'll meet him there. Yeah, okay. Bye."

"What was that?" Grissom asked, stretching the kinks out of his muscles.

"That was the day shift supervisor… there's a 419 call and everyone on both days and swing is on a case. Greg and I were next on the call list," Sara interrupted herself by yawning, "I have to go.. After I change and take a shower, that is."

"You just got off shift…" here Grissom had to check his watch, "five hours ago. You shouldn't even be on call yet."

Sara shrugged, "I know. But there's no one else, everyone's busy.."

He sighed. "You'd better go," He walked her to the door and gave her a goodbye kiss.

"I'll see you later," she said, and he nodded.

As he shut the door behind her he sighed again.

Maybe next time they'd have a few more hours.

Maybe next time they wouldn't fall asleep.

* * *

Grissom ended up coming in early that evening in response to a hit and run accident near a taco stand. Officer Metcalf felt it necessary to grab a taco for himself and tell everyone in hearing range that it was "the best taco I ever had."

"I'm happy for you both," Grissom muttered as he approached Brass.

"What, did you piss off Ecklie again?" Brass asked, "This is a hit and run, I was expecting Greg Sanders."

_And I would have sent him, too, if he wasn't off working on a case with Sara. Lucky Greg._

"We're slammed. Everybody's on a case," Grissom explained, and Brass nodded. Grissom looked over at the mangled "victim" of their hit and run. "Is this a Fiero?"

"Yeah, the old Fiero," Brass said. "Kind of makes you nostalgic for a Members Only jacket. Anyway, the Hummer was going the wrong way on a one way street. The guy in the Fiero, lucky to be alive. Nobody saw the driver get out."

"People who drive 100,000 dollar vehicles don't usually run away from them," Grissom commented as they walked around the cars.

"Well, you obviously haven't met any paroled rappers," Brass countered. Grissom shined his flashlight on the tire treads leading up to the accident scene. "Tread mark shapes indicate acceleration. Pedal to the metal. Maybe a getaway?"

"Or maybe a joyride." Brass walked him around to the door of the Hummer. "There's a red smear on the door. Somebody's got blood on their hands."

Grissom leaned into the truck, shining his light on the vehicle's airbag, which was covered with an oily stain. "Well, at least we know one thing about the driver," he said over his shoulder to Brass, "He's had a face lift."

Brass rolled his eyes and gave a small chuckle. "You're a barrel of laughs. "I'm going to go run the car's registration. You have fun." He strolled off, leaving Grissom to process the two cars as well as the surrounding scene.

* * *

Grissom left his trace evidence with Hodges and was walking through the lab's hallway, going over his shift's assignment list on the clipboard, when he overheard Greg's voice.

"Sara," Greg sounded nervous, "I just want you to know, when we were in the shower, I didn't 'see' anything."

_Greg? Sara? Shower? _

"Really?" Sara said nonchalantly. "Gosh, I saw everything."

_Everything?_

_What were Greg and Sara doing in a shower together?_

_How did Greg manage to take a shower with my girlfriend before I did?_

_Wait, what did I just call her?_

"Mr. Grissom?" Judy called from the desk, "PD just called. Apparently the Humvee from your hit and run was carjacked earlier tonight."

He nodded briefly, then looked after Greg and Sara, who had disappeared into the layout room.

He had to the bottom of this, as soon as he could.

He found Sara about an hour later. Her hair was pulled back into a bun, except for two wayward strands that were curling loose around her face, and she was wearing her lab coveralls. He realized that he couldn't tell if she was wearing anything under the coveralls, which was distracting, arousing and somewhat disturbing all at once.

"What was that all about?" When Sara gave him a puzzled look, he added, "You, Greg, shower…"

"Oh!" The light dawned. "You would not believe this case." She walked into the locker room with Grissom close behind. opening her locker, she began digging for something.

"Greg and I spent all day at this bodybuilder's house?" she explained, pulling some clothing, "While we're processing the scene, hazmat shows up and yanks us both out of the house."

"Hazmat?" Grissom couldn't conceal his surprise as Sara began undoing her coveralls – he noted with some relief that she was wearing a tank top underneath as she continued unbuttoning.

"Yeah," Sara continued, "Doc Robbins discovered a mold infection as he was doing the autopsy, so he called hazmat as a precaution. So they pulled Greg and me into a decontamination tent, and they hosed us down. It turns out, though, the infection's only dangerous if you have a compromised immune system, which our vic did." Sara ducked behind her locker door to finish changing. Grissom resisted the temptation to peek around the door, but he found it hard to begin speaking again.

"They had you in the shower? Together?" He could hear his voice cracking._ Smooth, Grissom_, he thought, _you sound like a fourteen year old_. Of course, with Sara changing only a few feet away, he felt a little like a fourteen year old.

"Yeah," Sara pulled her shirt on over her head and closed her locker door. "Why?"

"And you… saw… everything?"

Sara nodded, giving him an embarrassed shrug. "Does that bother you?" she asked.

"Um, no, no, I'm sure… it was extenuating circumstances… I'm glad it wasn't anything serious… um…" Grissom stumbled over his words, and Sara bit back a smile.

"Grissom," Sara interrupted, lowering her voice, "are you… jealous?"

"No, no, of course not, I just… don't know if that's appropriate…" He trailed off. The amused look Sara was giving him had him wishing he hadn't said anything. Sara was trying very hard not to laugh. "I've been working all day on only three hours of sleep, so I'm going to go home and take a nap now," She said, "Tomorrow Greg and I get to go back to the guy's house, we have to find the source of the mold."

Grissom stepped out of the way to let her past. Sara stopped, though, and turned to look at him. "You have no reason to be jealous of Greg." She said gently, and he nodded, not daring to speak."I'll see you later," She gave him a smile as she left.

* * *

The next day, Greg and Sara called him into the layout room to discuss their findings in the case of their dead bodybuilder. Sara filled him in on the bullet they found, lodged in the wall next to a leaking water pipe.

"Bullet pushed blood and tissue through the wall, and water from the pipe leak fed the mold growth," she explained.

"It took a while, but the mold released spores, which spread through the house AC, and right up into muscle-head's nose," Greg added. "We ran the phone numbers from the vic's planner, everybody checked out, except for a woman named Tiffany."

"No last name?" Grissom asked.

"Well, Tiffany is actually a street name for Angela Wheeler, known prostitute. Her family reported her missing last month." Greg pointed to an ad they'd found for Tiffany, which included her photo. Grissom glanced at it before looking again at a photo of their victim – he had to admit, the term "muscle-head" fit him well.

"Well, anyone who appears this narcissistic may prefer paying for hookers rather than wasting his love on a girlfriend."

"And, as we know, in addition to immune suppression, heart and liver disease, steroid abuse can also cause shrunken testicles, impotence and aggression – 'roid rage. So, if the DNA from the tissue on the bullet matches Tiffany…"

"You have a sample?" Grissom asked, finishing Sara's thought.

"A DNA reference sample was collected from her apartment in the initial investigation. Mia's on it." Greg said, and Grissom couldn't help but be impressed at their efficiency – even though he was still a little peeved at Greg.

"Very good."

"This is just like that Edgar Allen Poe story where the victim's heart under the floorboards betrays the murder." Greg added, sounding excited.

"'The Tell-Tale Heart.'" Grissom specified, and Greg nodded in agreement. "I thought you didn't like reading the classics."

"I do when they're about dismembered bodies."

Grissom looked over at Sara, who shook her head.

* * *

He wanted to call Sara after he left that night, to tell her all about the idiot who had tried to carjack the Hummer, but he didn't want to risk waking her. His phone rang just as he was about to crawl into bed, however, and when he saw who it was , he had to answer.

"I thought you'd already be asleep," he said, "You left before I did."

"Yeah… I was trying to fall asleep," Sara paused, "But I wanted to say good night."

"Oh." He lay back on his bed. "Well, good night, Sara."

"You're not… really jealous of Greg, are you?"

He thought for a moment. "Well, in a way, I guess I am."

"Why?"

"Because…" He paused, working up the courage to say what he really felt. "He got to share a shower with you before I did." He held his breath waiting for Sara's response.

"Well," Sara said once she'd recovered from her surprise, "we'll have to do something about that."

"We will," he agreed.

"Um… good night, Grissom." Sara's voice was sleepy and sweet, and he could just see her smiling, even over the phone.

"Good night, Sara, I'll see you tomorrow."

_I'll see Sara tomorrow_, he thought drowsily, _and I'm going to make sure to assign Sanders to decomp duty for the next several months_.

He smiled to himself as he drifted off to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Disclaimer: If I owned them, the last several months would have been very different.

A/N: To anyone who is still reading this - Thank you! A combination of events (RL complications first and foremost, although I'll admit the events of the season so far haven't helped) caused a serious delay in this story, but things seem to have calmed down now and so I'm picking up where we left off.

And once again, thanks to wobbear for her excellent beta work, and for being willing to pick this up again.

* * *

_Just skin - oh, yeah you're skin and bones  
Turned into something beautiful  
You know - for you I'd bleed myself dry  
For you I'd bleed myself dry  
"Yellow," Coldplay_

In these first tentative weeks of their friendship-turned-romance, there were many things Grissom and Sara had avoided talking about.

They hadn't talked about the importance of keeping their relationship private – they already knew they had to, and so it seemed to be something that didn't need to be mentioned.

They hadn't talked about sex, beyond a few teasing hints and hands gone astray during makeout sessions that always seemed to be interrupted by something.

They hadn't talked about why he had done this now, after so long, nor did they talk about where it was going.

Sara was still as terrified as she was happy, scared to say anything.

For his part, Grissom was still trying to wrap his mind around what was happening – how his initial motivation towards friendship had changed so radically, and so quickly. He was content to move slowly, to take things one night at a time, to evaluate each step forward with careful deliberation.

That's how it continued, until the rainy night when they were called to the scene of a murder at Desert State Mental Hospital.

Suddenly everything changed.

* * *

The call came in just before one o'clock in the morning.

"Desert State?" Sara asked when Grissom explained the call, "Isn't that the mental hospital?"

"Mmm-hmm," Grissom nodded. "Grab your stuff, I'll meet you at the car. Brass is going to meet us there."

"Um… can't you take Greg?"

Grissom had been on his way out of the room, but at Sara's question, he turned around. "He's on a B&E in Seven Hills, remember? And before you ask, it's Sofia's night off."

Sara sighed before she stood up.

"Is something wrong?" Grissom asked, concerned. It was unlike Sara to hesitate to work a case – he'd seen it exactly twice before, and each time it had signaled a larger problem.

"No, no," Sara said, "Let's go."

"Are you sure?"

"Grissom. Yes, I'm sure. Let's go."

It was a forty-five minute drive to Desert State in good conditions, but in the rain it took them almost an hour.

"This city does not handle rain well," Grissom commented as they followed a detour around a flooded road.

"It's the desert." Sara's voice was curt, and Grissom frowned. Before shift that night he had made dinner for Sara at his place, and she'd been in a perfectly good mood. He wanted to ask again what was wrong, but by now he knew Sara well enough to know she wouldn't tell him if he pushed too hard. He focused on his driving, watching the road ahead through the rhythmic motion of the windshield wipers.

When they arrived, Brass was waiting just inside the front door of the hospital, looking irritated.

"What the hell took you so long?" He asked as Grissom pushed the door open for Sara, and he tapped his foot impatiently as Grissom folded his umbrella.

"Well, you're in a good mood this evening," Grissom observed.

Brass glared at him and said, "Let's get a move on. This place gives me the creeps."

Once inside, they met with the nervous hospital administrator, Mr. Dunbar, who guided them up to the ward.

"We have two types of patients here: the criminally insane and sexually violent predators, all with multiple convictions. We get all the inmates the prisons can't handle," He stopped after he unlocked a metal door, and turned to them, "Keep your kits closed and locked when not in use. Um, Ms. Sidle, best if you remove the vest. New uniforms upset them."

Sara looked at him for a moment before she rolled her eyes, set her kit down, and began to take her vest off. After she had tucked the vest away in her kit, Dunbar led them through another set of doors before he continued his introductory speech. "We're mostly concerned with maintaining psychiatric remission. We want to stabilize symptoms, and reduce an individual's risk of violence to himself and to others."

A line of patients approached from the other end of the hallway, and he interrupted himself to gesture to the three of them.

"Oh, uh, if you could actually stop here and put your backs against the wall, please." They did as instructed.

"It's standard safety procedure," Dunbar continued, anticipating the question.

They watched the line of patients walk past. One – a tall, bulky man with a shaved head – caught sight of Sara and immediately began wiggling his tongue at her, panting loudly. He turned, walking backwards to keep his eyes on her.

"Put your tongue in your mouth, Jake," scolded the tech who was accompanying the patients. Sara's eyes shifted towards Brass, who shrugged as if to say "What can you do?" She frowned as Dunbar led them towards another door.

"We're moving them all into the day room," Dunbar explained. As he opened the door, two nurses and a police officer standing in the hallway on the other side fell silent.

'This is Captain Brass. Dr. Grissom and Ms. Sidle are from the crime lab."

The police officer spoke first. "Lt. Reed Owens, Desert State Hospital Police."

"We have our own internal police team and Lt. Owens was the first officer on the scene after the call came in," Dunbar added.

"The victim was found by Nurse Faber at approximately 12:10am." Lt. Owens nodded towards the woman standing next to him.

"Joanne was coming off shift, I was coming on. Doing bed checks, found Robbie on the floor." She pointed into the open room before continuing, "Kenny was in the corner covered in blood."

Grissom walked around to take a look inside the room.

"Are the patients locked in their rooms at night?" Brass asked.

"No. The doors are left unlocked," Dunbar said.

"So they're free to roam around?" Brass sounded incredulous.

"Locked rooms usually lead to patients trying to harm themselves."

Grissom shined his flashlight into the room, taking note of the position of the body, the smears of blood on the floor, the spatter on the wall.

"Where's Kenny now?" Brass asked, and Grissom turned to hear the answer.

"He's been taken to seclusion," Nurse Faber said, and Dunbar gestured the way to the seclusion room.

Nurse Faber led them into the seclusion room, where Kenny lay strapped to a gurney, screaming. A man was tightening the straps, holding him down.

"Shh-shh-shh."

Nurse Faber glanced at his chart. "Leon, let's get a couple more milligrams of lorazepam into him."

Kenny continued struggling against his restraints, screaming incoherently. Sara noticed deep gouges on his arms as he thrashed. "How did he get those wounds?"

"Oh, Kenny's a self-mutilator," Leon replied casually. ."He suffers from Renfield's syndrome; gets off on blood. Shh," he said to Kenny as he and the nurse continued to hold the man down. "Couple of weeks ago, I caught him gouging himself with a carpet staple." Kenny groaned as Leon sank a needle into his arm.

"He was wearing these clothes when you found him?" Grissom asked.

"Yes," Nurse Faber answered.

Sara looked over at Grissom, who signaled her out of the room with a tilt of his head. He waited until they were out in the hallway to speak. "There was blood spatter all over the victim's room."

"Blood but no spatter on Kenny's clothes," Sara added, and Grissom was glad she'd noticed exactly what he had.

"I'm not sure this is our guy," he said.

Sara sighed. "Locked unit, finite number of suspects," she said thoughtfully as she glanced up and down the hallways.

"Crazy or not, here we come." Grissom said.

The on-call doctor, a woman named Valerie Dino, set up rooms for Brass and Grissom to interview the witnesses – in this case, the patients.

"They're not going to give you a straight answer," she warned, and Brass nodded.

"No one ever does."

Sara had volunteered herself for the processing of the victim's room, which Grissom readily agreed to – he really didn't want her around the patients any more than necessary, given how they'd reacted to her.

This entire situation was starting to get to him. Normally people like this would pique his scientific curiosity, and the fact that they didn't was as unsettling to Grissom as the situation itself. He wanted to do his job, but on another, more basic level, he wanted to get out of there – and take Sara with him.

His interviews with the patients went from bad to worse – one seemed to believe there was a cricket in his head, another matter-of-factly described himself as a rapist, not a murderer, and the last patient he interviewed spoke at length about… well, he wasn't sure what the man was talking about.

"What a bunch of nutjobs," Brass complained when he met Grissom in the hall.

"Well, this is a mental hospital."

"You can say that again. If I ever go nuts, Gil, I hope they just shoot me before I end up in a place like this."

A part of Grissom wanted to agree with Brass, but he wasn't about to say so. As the two men rounded the corner, they spotted Sara walking up the hallway.

"Hey, guys, I found semen in the victim's room and it's probably not his, he was chemically castrated."

"So you're thinking the donor could be the killer?" Brass asked. "Sex is the foreplay, violence is the climax," Grissom commented.

The patients had been moved back into the day room after the interviews, and the techs and nurses were preparing them for DNA testing.

"Well… happy swabbing," Brass gestured them into the day room.

_Great_, Sara thought, making a face involuntarily. Grissom couldn't see her expression, but he could sense the tension in her body as they entered the room.

"They've been prepped. You're all set," Lt. Owens said.

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

The two CSIs began their own preparations, snapping on new gloves and pulling swabs from their kits.

"Well, you take that side," Grissom said, looking around the room. "I'll take Jiminy Cricket."

"Excellent." Sara's voice betrayed her lack of enthusiasm.

Grissom walked over to the patient he'd dubbed "Jiminy Cricket" and began working. "Say 'Ah'."

As he worked, he began to feel some of Sara's uneasiness, and it bothered him. Sara was on the other side of the room, taking a swab from the "rapist, not a murderer" patient, one Grissom began to wish he'd taken for himself. Although really, what could happen here, in a room full of people?

This concern for Sara was distracting him. He needed to focus on the case at hand.

_Keep swabbing, Grissom._

Meanwhile, across the room, Sara was also trying to concentrate on her work. This place, these patients – the entire situation, it made her skin crawl. She had been in a place like this before, and she knew the memory was part of the reason for her unease.

She approached one of the patients, who had one of the Desert State officers standing guard just behind him. The fact that this patient needed his own escort did not make her feel any better.

"Open your mouth, please," she said. He ignored her. "Would you open your mouth, sir?" she asked again, and he was still for a moment before he lunged forward, his mouth open as if to bite her. Sara jumped back, pulling her hand high up in the air, and for a moment she froze, wondering if she still had all of her fingers.

"Settle down," the officer said, holding him back. The patient began mumbling something incomprehensible.

Sara regained her power of movement after a moment, but her heart was still pounding.

_That does it_, she thought.

"Grissom?" she called, and he looked over at her. "You take this one." She pointed at the patient before turning away, taking a deep breath to calm herself.

_I so wish I was anywhere but here_, she thought as Grissom took over.

* * *

Grissom managed to get the swab when the patient opened his mouth to yell. He was still yelling as they left the room, struggling against the officer holding on to his shoulders.

"What was that, Latin?" Brass asked as the two of them came back into the hallway. Sara shook her head.

"I have no idea." She sighed as Grissom's phone interrupted them.

"Grissom… Okay, good. Give me an hour? All right, thanks." He hung up and turned to Brass and Sara. "That was Robbins," he explained. "He wanted to know when we'd be ready for the autopsy."

"You told him an hour?" Sara asked.

"We won't get much else done here tonight. We might as well head back, we'll have better luck if we come back early tomorrow."

Sara managed to look both relieved to be leaving and unhappy that'd they'd have to come back, all at once.

She was quiet through the drive back to the lab, leaving Grissom to concentrate on his driving – the rain still hadn't let up. He turned on the radio and flipped through the stations, trying to find a weather report.

"We can expect intermittent rain for the next several days from a front that has stalled over the valley – flash flood warnings are in effect for…"

Sara reached over and shut the radio off.

"Hey!" Grissom protested.

"It's raining, Grissom, what else do you need to know?" she snapped, then softened. "Sorry."

There were a few more moments of silence before Sara spoke again. "This case gives me the creeps."

Grissom glanced over at her. "Me too," he admitted, and Sara looked at him, surprised. "You?"

"Yes, me. Is that so hard to believe?"

"Yes." Sara smiled, and he narrowed his eyes at her before smiling back.

Grissom parked the SUV, deliberately pulling it into one of the back spaces in the parking garage, a move that puzzled Sara.

"I think… you should log this stuff and go home. At least for a few hours. I'll handle the autopsy."

Sara opened her mouth to protest, then thought better of it and stopped. They'd have to go back to Desert State, and it probably wouldn't be a bad thing to give herself a little time before making the trip.

"All right," she agreed, and Grissom had to cover his surprise. He already had his remarks prepared for what he thought would be the inevitable argument.

"All right," he echoed, and Sara moved to climb out of the truck. "Wait. " He laid a hand on her arm and waited for her to turn to him.

"Ye-" She was cut off by the press of his lips to hers, and suddenly his choice of a parking space where they were shielded from view made much more sense.

Sara knew they were still in a risky place, but she leaned into the kiss, savoring the softness of his lips against hers. They'd kissed before, many times, but Grissom was always tentative, gentle, letting her take the lead. There was something different about this kiss, almost urgent. Sara had to break the kiss to catch her breath.

"What was that for?" she asked, panting.

"I've um… I've kissed you before."

"Not like that."

"I just… I…" He lowered his voice, almost whispering, "I just really wanted to kiss you. I uh… I _needed_ to kiss you."

"Oh." Sara couldn't think of what else to say, so just nodded.

After a pause, he said, "I'll see you in a few hours." Sara nodded again. It took a few moments for her to regain her power of movement. By the time she did, he was already out of the car.

_He needed to kiss me_, Sara thought, _he _needed_ to kiss me_.

* * *

Grissom went off to his autopsy, and after logging the evidence Sara went home for a shower, a change of clothes and a cup of coffee – she thought about taking a nap, too, but quickly dismissed the idea as impossible. Hot cases generally kept her up, at least until exhaustion took over, and this case was no different. She headed back to the lab, hoping Hodges had some results on the trace evidence she'd turned in.

Sara found him bent over a microscope in the trace lab. "Do you have results for me yet?" Apparently Hodges hadn't heard her approach, because he jumped in his seat and gave her an accusing look.

"And good morning to you, too, Sara. You know, a little appreciation wouldn't hurt, considering that I stayed several hours overtime going over your samples." He gestured towards the microscope, and Sara peered into it.

"Would you ever bleach your hair?" he asked, and she looked up at him. "I wouldn't. It's so Greg Sanders."

Sara went back to the microscope. Several hairs were on the slide, bleached at the tips.

"Most of the hair is the vic's," Hodges continued, "but I also found that bleached sample as well. In my continuing quest to further my standing, I took it upon myself to get you the tox report."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Blood came back with pretty hefty levels of olanzapine."

"That's a potent anti-psychotic," Sara commented, and Hodges nodded.

"Good for drooling. And also there's the uh, not-so-potent smattering of ibuprofen."

"That's it?" She remembered the long list of medications posted outside Robbie's room.

"That's it. If I were institutionalized, I think I would hope for something better." Sara looked down at the tox report, which had only the two medications. "Clonazepam, maybe."

_Only Hodges would have actually put thought into something like that_, Sara thought as she looked back up at him.

"What, you think I'm crazy?"

_Yep, _Sara thought, but she shook her head and smiled.

"Crazy is as crazy does." She looked back at the paperwork in her hand. "His chart indicated at least four other anti-psychotics. Why wasn't he getting those meds?"

"Do I look clairvoyant?" Hodges made a face as he walked off, and Sara shook her head at his back.

Grissom appeared at the lab not long after, and Sara could tell he too had just taken a brief trip home for a shower – he smelled of fresh soap, even from the doorway of his office.

"I talked to Brass on my way in," he explained. "He said the hospital has been on probation due to deaths resulting from restraint procedures. I have some work to finish up here. Would you mind going with him to talk to Dunbar?"

"Sure. I just got tox results back from Hodges –"

"Why is Hodges giving you tox results?"

"Um, it's part of his 'quest to further his standing,'" She smiled, and Grissom gave a knowing nod. "The vic was getting only one of the anti-psychotics he'd been prescribed."

"Hmm. That's curious," Grissom said, and it was Sara's turn to give a knowing nod, "That gives you two things to ask Dunbar about."

"I'm on it." Sara was about to turn and walk away when she felt a hand on her arm.

"You okay with going back?" he asked.

"Sure," Sara said.

"I know… I mean…"

"The sooner I go back, the sooner we wrap this up," Sara interrupted, and he looked relieved. Sara's ability to understand his stumbling attempts at conversation had some advantages. He didn't want to have to admit to his concern – she might be offended, and that was the last thing he wanted.

"I'll go find Brass." Then she was gone.

It ended up being a quick visit, but not a very helpful one. They did uncover Leon's pill stealing scam but that was all. Dunbar turned over the video logs from the seclusion room that showed Robbie was alive when he left, proving that the death hadn't been caused by the hospital's restraint procedures.

"In other words," Sara explained to Grissom as she followed him from the break room into his office, "we still don't have much."

He nodded, handing Sara a cup of coffee as she sat in the chair opposite his desk.

"Thanks," she said, smiling at him before she returned to flipping through the video logs she had brought back from Desert State. "According to the video logs, the victim was brought into seclusion at 5:03pm, and taken out of the room at 7:06pm. Nurse McKay noted that he was awake and in bed at the 9:30pm bed checks."

Grissom opened his own file, and checked the original notes from the scene. "Body was found at 12:10. So sometime between 9:30 and midnight, he was suffocated."

"Probably closer to 9:30. The blood would have needed time to coagulate before his head was smashed in."

"And not necessarily by the same person," Grissom pointed out.

Their conversation was interrupted by Greg, who strolled in holding a pillow wrapped in a plastic bag – a quick glance told Sara it was the pillow she'd collected from Robbie's room.

"Hey, how about some pillow talk?" Greg sounded cheerful as he held the pillow up. "Robbie's pillow had saliva on it. Lots of it, all his."

"Could be from drooling. Or it could be from dying," Grissom remarked.

"Well, look at this – I found slits at both ends," Greg continued, "left hand and right hand." He grabbed the pillow to show what he meant, resting his own hands on the small tears someone's fingernails had made in the fabric. He then made a move towards Sara with the pillow, to demonstrate exactly how someone could have suffocated their victim.

Greg looked playful, but Sara flinched and pulled back, holding her clipboard as if it were a shield. Even though, logically, she knew Greg would never try to hurt her, the moment still made her heart jump, and not in a good way.

_This case is just freaking me out a little, that's all_, she thought, trying to shake off the creepy-crawly sensation that had suddenly spread across her skin. The look on Grissom's face didn't help, either.

"Looks like we have a murder weapon," she said, and Grissom gave but the slightest of nods.

They would have to go back to Desert State again, Grissom realized somewhat glumly. He thought of taking Greg along instead, leaving Sara in the relative safety of the lab to work on processing the evidence from the pillow and from Robbie's sheets.

This case was causing a problem.

Not because of the case itself, either – that was part of the problem. His concern for Sara was distracting him, causing him to lose focus. It had happened before, but now – now was different. He wanted to blame the change in their relationship, but he knew that had very little to do with it. Sara had always brought out his protective instincts, from the moment they met.

_If we weren't… together, would I still be wishing I could pull her off of this case?_

_Probably._

For some reason Greg's little demonstration with the pillow had nudged him just so slightly off balance. It wasn't that Greg was being playful with Sara – that was normal, expected.

So why did it give him the urge to take that pillow and smother Greg with it?

He'd wanted to take that patient who'd leered at Sara the day before and throw him against a wall, too.

It wasn't jealousy. He knew by now that he had no reason to be jealous of Greg. Yet he had seen Sara's reaction to his playfulness – the way she flinched, the way she pulled back.

Years of watching Sara from afar had given him an ability to read her gestures, her expressions, and lately, after spending so much time with her, that ability had gotten better. He didn't always know what to do or say about them – that was the hard part. But he could tell when she was happy, when she was upset, when she was tense, when something made her nervous.

This case was making her tense, he knew it.

Heck, she'd _told_ him it gave her the creeps, he didn't have to be a mind reader. But it upset him anyhow.

_All right_, he thought, shaking his head, _this is getting ridiculous. It's a case, like any other_. _We will wrap it up and go back to normal._

Besides, Sara was a big girl, she could handle this. Probably better than he could.

He gathered his kit and went to find Sara for another trip back to Desert State.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed, and thanks again to wobbear for another excellent beta job.

Also: If you have seen "Committed," you know what's coming... reader discretion is advised. (There's nothing graphic here, but better to be safe than sorry!)

* * *

"_Into this night I'll wander  
__It's morning that I dread  
__Another day of knowing of  
__The path I fear to tread  
__Into the sea of waking dreams  
__I follow without pride  
__Because nothing stands between us here  
__And I won't be denied"  
_"_Possession" - Sarah McLachlan _

Chapter 10

The clouds and rain had managed to turn the warm weather surprisingly cool, but even so Grissom had to smile when Sara pulled out a hat to go with her long black coat.

"You know," he said, "It is still Vegas. It's not that cold."

"You may not be cold, but I am." Sara retorted, pulling the black hat over her hair. "Besides, humidity always makes my hair curl."

"I like it when it does that," he said, and Sara turned to him.

"You do?"

"Sure."

Sara settled back into her seat and looked out the window, but he noticed her trying to hide a hint of a smile.

* * *

They arrived at Desert State and met briefly with Dr. Dino, who advised Sara that Nurse McKay had been the one supervising the group therapy session that had landed Robbie in the seclusion room – according to Leon, he "freaked out," but since Leon hadn't actually been there, he didn't have much to add. Sara went off to find the nurse while Grissom went back up to the patient rooms to review what they had already documented. He was in the hallway when his cell phone rang.

"We got a hit on the DNA from the semen on the sheets," Greg explained. "Patient named Adam Trent."

"Thank you, Greg – why are you giving me the DNA results instead of Mia?"

"Oh, she's swamped, I'm helping her out. Of course, if you need me out there…"

"No," Grissom cut him off, "You're on standby in case a call comes in. In the meantime, keep processing. "

"Gotcha," Greg said before he hung up.

Grissom hung up and dialed Sara's phone.

"Sidle."

"We got the DNA results back on the semen on Robbie's sheets. Patient Adam Trent – the nail biter."

"Okay," Sara said.

"I'll meet you up in his room – it's right across from Robbie's."

"All right. See you in a minute."

Adam Trent's room was the same as Robbie's, small and cramped, with faded blue walls and a window covered in security wire. Adam, however, had drawings hanging on one wall, intricate pencil sketches of seemingly random, innocent things which morphed into something far more dangerous. Grissom had just started taking pictures of the artwork when Sara arrived, and she stopped to look them over.

Grissom lowered his camera after snapping a few photos. "This stuff is dark," he commented.

"Yeah," Sara replied thoughtfully, "'Course, I wouldn't expect Winnie the Pooh."

"Adam's subconscious was working overtime," Grissom added.

"I bet you aced your Rorschachs," Sara teased, smiling widely at Grissom. He gave her a mock glare in response, but he was happy she was relaxed enough to tease him.

"When I was in fifth grade," Sara continued, "I drew a picture of a harpooned whale. Everybody thought I was gonzo'd, but I had just read Moby Dick. Sometimes a dying whale is just a dying whale."

Grissom lowered the camera to look at Sara, surprised at first at the idea of a ten or eleven year old reading _Moby Dick_. He pictured a small Sara busily drawing pictures of harpooned whales, and the people around her concerned for her mental health because of it. She gave him another big, joking smile, which he returned with a raised eyebrow, but this glimpse into Sara's childhood was both interesting and a little sad – he felt her smile tugging at his heart. He raised his camera to take another photo of the drawings, trying once again to shift his focus from Sara to work.

Meanwhile, Sara reached for one of the drawings on the wall, but instead of taking it, she knocked it behind the dresser. Grissom gave the heavy piece of furniture a tug to help her retrieve it. She noticed a vent in the wall behind the dresser, and through the slats of the vent's metal cover, she could see something hidden inside. The cover came off easily, and she pulled out a stack of letters, setting them on the dresser above her.

"These are all postdated over a year ago," Grissom said, looking over the letters while Sara continued to investigate the vent. Sara pulled out a hairbrush and began to examine it with her flashlight. "It's not just his subconscious; this guy's got stuff buried everywhere," Grissom finished. Sara raised her eyes at him, and he shrugged.

"These letters," he said, after looking at them for a few moments, "It looks like they're from his mother."

"Well, that's not surprising," Sara replied, standing up from her position behind the dresser, "Even psychopaths have mothers."

"We should see what Doctor Dino knows about these letters," he said, shaking his head.

* * *

"Dearest Angel, I think of you wherever I go, You are my prince. I miss you, write to me, Your only love, Mother." Another one. Uh… "It rained today. I thought of that time when you and I got caught in the storm at the lake. The fire… I came home and made your favorite dinner. I even set a place for you…" and so on and so forth." Dr. Dino shook her head after she finished reading from the letters.

"That does not sound maternal to me," Sara commented.

"It's not," the doctor agreed.

"Incest?" Grissom asked.

"Fully consummated. Mother-son incest is rare and deeply pathological," Dr. Dino explained.

"Oedipal complex taken too far?" Sara asked.

"Oedipus implies son-to-mother. In this case, the mother was seeking the love and creating the co-dependence. We call this a Jocasta complex," Dr. Dino said.

"Oedipus's mother," Grissom added.

"When Adam was nine, his father died. His mother replaced her dead husband with her son," Dr. Dino continued.

_Nine_, Grissom thought, _the same age I was_. His own mother had grieved deeply for his father – even setting an extra place for him at the dinner table, just as Adam's mother had mentioned in her letters. In some ways she had used him as a replacement for his father – he'd had to pretend to be "Mr. Grissom" on the phone many times as he was growing up, to translate for his mother's furious signing for the plumber or the electrician.

But that was as far as it had gone. Nothing so… inappropriate, so warped as they'd uncovered here. Even in the eerie silence that descended upon their home when his father died, Katherine Grissom had never let her composure waver in front of her son. She was a proper woman, almost too proper, but also capable of moments of loving kindness.

In any case, Grissom thought, his mother's own reaction to a similar tragedy proved exactly how dangerous this patient's mother must have been to do something like that to her own child.

"That's got to mess you up," Sara said, as if reading his thoughts.

"Yeah," Dr. Dino agreed, "Adam is schizo-affective, suicidal, and a pathological narcissist. When he was a teenager, he was unable to retaliate against his mother and incapable of actual intimacy, so he started raping women."

The doctor punctuated her statement by raising her hands, as if to say 'What do you expect?'

"Always women?" Grissom asked.

"Yes, which is why I don't think he killed Robbie," Dr. Dino answered.

"We found Adam's semen in Robbie's bed." Sara explained.

"You see, that surprises me. Like any good psychopath, he rarely veers from his pattern. Adam is a single celled organism who exists solely for himself. He must have been getting something tangible in return."

"What, drugs? Cigarettes?" Sara shook her head.

"Drugs aren't his issue," Dr. Dino said, "And as far as I know, he doesn't smoke."

"So, uh, what can we learn from his artwork?" Grissom gestured to the drawings from Robbie's room, which were laid out in front of them on Dr. Dino's desk.

"Uh… he starts with an innocuous object – a tree, cat, oboe," She pointed to each of the pictures in turn, "all of which he morphs into something deadly. You can see… all of them."

"So what should be safe turns into something unsafe." Grissom said, and Dr. Dino nodded.

"Mother becomes lover."

"What about the mother? Do you have any idea where she is?" Sara asked.

"She lives near Reno."

"Based on the postmarks, it seems like she stopped writing him," Sara said.

Dr. Dino looked a little embarrassed as she explained, "Every time a letter came, a manic episode followed, then a severe depression, including one suicide attempt. So… I started sending the letters back. Eventually she stopped writing."

"We're going to have to talk to Adam." Grissom said, and Dr. Dino nodded.

"I'll arrange it."

While Dr. Dino was collecting Adam, Grissom and Sara debated briefly over who should be the one to question him.

"I didn't have much luck with him earlier," Grissom noted. "When I asked him if he did it, he told me to check his file, that he was a rapist, not a murderer."

"Great," Sara said, without much enthusiasm. "Well, I could take a shot."

"He has issues with women… that could provoke a reaction, perhaps?"

"Yeah, or he could shut down entirely."

"Why don't we see how he reacts to you, and then take it from there?"

Sara nodded her agreement just as Dr. Dino brought Adam, who was already biting his nails, into the room. Dr. Dino directed him to sit at the table opposite the two of them while she took a seat in the corner of the room, in sight but out of the way.

"Adam," Sara began, "We know you and Robbie were having sex."

"So?" He challenged, raising his hand back to his mouth and biting his nails again.

"Well, he's dead."

"I know that."

"Did you kill him?"

"Did I kill him?" He seemed to consider his answer for a few moments. "Yes."

"Why?"

"He was queer."

"But you had sex with him."

Adam leveled his eyes at Sara. "No. He had sex with me. He was the punk."

"Was it consensual?" she asked.

"I don't know."

"So why did you do it?"

"I don't know."

_Wow, he's just _full_ of answers_, Sara thought. "Okay. So then what happened?"

"I took his head and I smashed it into the floor."

"And that's how you killed him?" Sara prompted, looking over at Grissom. This was an obvious lie – although someone had in fact bashed Robbie's head in, he'd been suffocated first. It was a red flag.

"What, you don't believe me?" Adam challenged, thrusting his chin at Sara, obviously bothered by the look she'd shared with Grissom.

"I'm just wondering if that's how you killed him."

"Yes. I'm saying this and this is true. And if you don't believe me, just look in the bucket in the latrine."

Sara glanced over at Grissom, which again prompted Adam to speak, as if he wanted all of her attention. "Okay… do you really want to know why I killed him?"

"Yes." Sara replied.

Adam started biting his nails again, his eyes fixed on her in a way that made Grissom want to shield Sara from his gaze. "It's because I'm crazy."

After Dr. Dino led Adam out of the room, Grissom stood, taking his kit.

"We need to check out that latrine," he said, and Sara nodded. They made their way down the hall, accompanied by a guard to point them in the right direction.

"He's lying," Sara said as the guard opened the door. "Not a word about suffocation."

She entered the room, with Grissom a few steps behind.

"Well, his nails weren't long enough to leave those tears in the pillow. And there would have been traces of blood from his cuticles," he added.

"Something is off."

Sara spotted the washing bucket, tucked in the back corner of the room against the showers. Grissom stayed behind her as she approached it. She shined her flashlight into the bucket and then pulled on her gloves to remove several pieces of clothing from the bucket. She spread the first item on the floor for a better look. The shirt – one like those all the patients wore – was covered in dried blood.

"Well, there's our blood spatter," Grissom commented as Sara continued to dig. She pulled out a white piece that had been wrapped in the rest of the clothing, a pair of plain cotton boxers.

"What is that on the crotch?" he asked, referring to the pink or red stain that appeared when Sara unfolded them.

Sara glanced at it for a second, then looked back up at him. "Lipstick."

There weren't many women at Desert State, and Sara immediately ran through the few she remembered. The African American nurse, Nanette – she had no lipstick on at all. Dr. Dino was wearing only a pale shade, if anything – but there was Nurse McKay, who had described the incident in group therapy to Sara while sucking on a cigarette, staining it with her bright pink lipstick.

Sara grabbed her coat and hat and asked the guard to accompany her back down to the outside break area to reclaim the nurse's discarded cigarette butt from the ashtray.

"Where is Nurse McKay?" Sara asked the officer as she sealed the cigarette into an envelope. "I need to talk to her."

"She's on lunch duty."

_Okay_, Sara thought, _it's most likely her lipstick, she's the only one that wears it – we need to get into the nurse's station to see if we can find something more_.

"All right," Sara said to the officer, "I can either take this and the underwear back to our lab and confirm the match, which will only extend our presence here, or… you can give me access to the nurse's station right now."

He shrugged, but he led her back upstairs.

He unlocked the nurse's station for them.

"I've got to head back to the main post – will you two be all right in here?" he asked. Grissom gave him an absent nod, and he left the two of them to their work.

"This must be the photo that Nurse McKay confiscated from Robbie during group. The missing half?" She held up the photo of a curly haired boy to show Grissom. "I found blue tape in Robbie's room. Kind of looks like Adam."

"Where would Robbie get a picture of Adam?" Grissom wondered out loud, and Sara shrugged.

"Well, they were having sex." Sara picked up a heart shaped paperweight with "J + A" etched haphazardly into the grey clay.

_J & A_, she thought, Nurse _Joanna_ McKay – _Joanna and Adam_? Maybe she reminded Adam of his mother? Something was definitely going on between the two of them, but how did Robbie – and his death – figure into this? Sara pondered the paperweight for a few more moments before turning her attention back to the other items on the desks.

Meanwhile, Grissom was checking the drawers of the nurse's station, which all seemed to be locked. He was focused on the evidence, as usual, and the locked drawers irritated him. "I'm going to find someone who can open these drawers," he said to Sara.

It was such a small thing.

* * *

He set off down the hallway, barely hearing Sara's unconcerned response to his departure, and found a guard standing at the end of the hallway – not the same guard who had escorted them earlier.

"Excuse me," he said, "Would you know where I could find someone with a key to the drawers in the nurse's station?"

"Sure," The guard pointed down an adjoining corridor, "The main guard post is down that hallway, they should have a set of master keys. The nurses have their own keys, but I'm not sure where they are…"

"Thanks," Grissom interrupted, "I'll check with them."

He walked in the direction the guard had indicated. The main guard post – which turned out to be a fancy name for an oversized office wrapped in security-wired windows – held only the one guard, who seemed to be reading a magazine.

"Excuse me, we need a key for the drawers in the nurse's station."

"Oh, sure." The guard picked up an oversized keychain and the two of them headed back down the hallway towards the nurse's station.

Grissom noticed the closed door first – that was strange, he was certain…

He'd left the door open.

* * *

Sara had hardly noticed Grissom's departure – she'd acknowledged it with a distracted "Okay," since she was busy going through the items on the counter. The photo of a young boy was especially interesting – it really did look like Adam. So why did Joanna McKay have it? And why had it been on Robbie's wall?

The footsteps she heard approaching did not faze her either – Grissom had probably found his keys and was on his way back.

"Hey."

_That was not Grissom. It sounded like –_

She turned around just as Adam Trent shut the door behind him.

"Are you a spiritual person?" he asked, his hand still on the door.

"Sometimes."

_Okay, Sara, stay calm_, she thought, _just breathe and maybe this won't be so bad. Why in the hell do they let him just wander around?! _

"Do you believe that everything happens for a reason? That bad things are there to teach us a karmic lesson?" Adam asked. Sara nodded, but she wasn't really listening. He was approaching her, walking slowly, intently.

_Focus_, she told herself, but it was impossible.

_I'm trapped in a little room, alone, with a rapist._

_Goddammit, Grissom, where the hell are you?_

She had seen a syringe on the counter, lying amidst the other items she'd been searching, and now she fumbled behind her back, trying to grasp it. She had no idea what was in it, but it was the closest thing to a weapon she had. She had done some self defense training, weaponless defense, but the instructions were now just scraps of thought she couldn't hold on to. If she could maybe just –

"You know, maybe all our problems can be cured by tuning in to a higher frequency." Adam continued, "There's this one guy I read, he believes that illness, anxiety and fear all occur when people are vibrating at 10,000 cycles a second."

He was almost on top of her by now, she could sense he was about to grab her. If she had any chance at getting away, now was the moment to take it.

She grasped the syringe even tighter in her hand and thrust it at him, but he was too quick. He grabbed her and the syringe went flying from her hand. She watched out of the corner of her eye as it rolled under the counter.

He was strong, too strong for such a skinny man, and he wrestled her down to the floor, holding her against his chest with one arm. She reached back to jab him with her elbow, but he only held her tighter.

She felt something sharp jabbing against her neck.

_Oh, God._

_Oh my God, how in the world does a mental patient get a knife? _

_Oh my God, He's going to rape me and then he is going to kill me._

_Oh, God._

"If they could just get up to 100,000 cycles per second," Adam continued, breathless, "they'd be in the realm of sound, light and spirit, and everything would be just fine, right?"

She could feel him pressing against her back, his fingers digging into her arm, his arm tight around her chest. She wrapped her hands around his arm to try to pull him loose, but the sharp edge of the knife pressing against her neck kept her still.

"Yeah," she tried to agree, because he expected an answer, but it was hard to breathe and hard to think, hard to focus on anything.

"You know what I think?" Adam asked, "I think I'm just vibrating at the wrong frequency."

She tried to elbow him again, but he only held her tighter, pressing the knife against her neck. "Don't," he warned, and she could feel something else pressing against her back.

_Oh, God, don't. Don't think about it._

"It's okay," she whispered, not sure exactly who she was talking to.

"Do you think I'm smart?" Adam wheedled. "Do you think I'm right?"

The knife was against her neck and something hard was pressing against her back and she couldn't even think.

_Just keep him calm. Agree with him! _

"Yeah," she panted, increasingly uncomfortable as he pulled her tighter.

"Yeah?"

_Sure, whatever you say, just please, let me get out of this._

"Uh-huh."

"Do you?"

"I do," she said.

The doorknob was rattling, and Sara looked up to see Grissom's face on the other side of the glass, fear etched on his face. She couldn't hear him, but he was saying something.

Adam noticed the men on the other side of the door, but it only seemed to excite him and anger him all the more. "Don't you move a muscle, I will grind you, you bitch, do you hear me?"

He pulled her closer to him and she could feel his arm digging into her chest, the growing hardness tighter against her back.

She looked up and met Grissom's eyes, which seemed to make Adam even angrier. She flashed back to his actions in the interrogation room, how he interrupted every time she looked at Grissom, how he wanted all of her attention.

"You do not look at them, you keep your eyes on the floor," Adam growled, and Sara broke eye contact and followed his orders.

She felt as if she had just cut her lifeline.

It was over. He couldn't help her. If he smashed the glass – and he looked like he wanted to – Adam would slash her throat in a second.

_Oh, God, is he going to have to –_

She remembered Susanna Kirkwood, how her parents had been forced to listen while two robbers raped their daughter, and she wondered if Grissom would be forced to watch and do nothing while Adam Trent –

"Wait! Adam!"

Nurse McKay slammed her palms against the glass, screaming loud enough to be heard on both sides, and the minute Adam heard her voice his head jerked up.

"You!" he shouted, "You go away!" He took the knife away from Sara's neck, and as he pointed it at Nurse McKay Sara could see that it wasn't really a knife at all, rather a shard of something like broken pottery - but it didn't matter at the moment, because he had loosened his grip on her. She jabbed him with her elbow again and he fell back slightly, enough for her to get away. She threw herself at the door, flung it open, and burst out of the room, taking a deep breath of air as she ran down the hallway. She could hear some commotion behind her, but she didn't turn around to find out what was going on. She slowed to a walk as she reached the end of the hallway, a window covered in security wire, the harsh security lights glaring against the rain spattered glass.

_Oh, get me the hell out of here_, Sara thought as she leaned against the window, lowering her head to catch her breath.

* * *

It was something so small. Locked drawers and an open door.

When Grissom noticed the closed door of the nurse's station, he glanced around the guard's shoulder and caught a glimpse of Sara, struggling on the floor against the grip of Adam Trent, who was holding something sharp against her neck.

"Oh, dear God," he said, focusing on Sara.

_She can't breathe_, he thought.

"Open the door," he said to the guard, who was rattling the doorknob. He wanted to grab the keys from the man, but he couldn't move. He could not take his eyes off of Sara. If he glanced away for even a minute –

"I can't, it's not the right key!" the guard cried, exasperated.

"Just open it." Sara's eyes met his, and he could see her fear, as strong as his own.

_I need something to break this glass_.

"Please, open the door," he repeated.

_If I break this glass, he'll slash her throat before I can get to her. _

_There's nothing I can do_.

His helplessness hit him hard enough to take his own breath away.

_God, please, give me another chance. Don't let him hurt her. _

Almost as if she were an answer to his prayer, Joanna McKay ran up from the other direction and slammed her palms against the glass, distracting Adam from Sara.

"You!" He screamed, loud enough to be heard through the glass, "You go away!"

He pointed the shard at her, taking it away from Sara's neck and she took her chance. . She elbowed Adam hard and ran, bursting out of the room and running past him and the guard, who still hadn't been able to open the door.

Just as Sara escaped, Adam used the shard to slice his own neck open. Nurse McKay screamed, "Adam, stop!" as blood poured from the wound and he fell to the floor.

Grissom turned to find Sara, who was already halfway down the hall. Nurse McKay was screaming for a medic, and she ran into the room with the guard. Adam rolled on the floor, groaning as they tried to stop the bleeding.

Grissom felt as if he were frozen. That shard had sliced through Adam's throat as smoothly as sharp scissors through tissue paper. He was consumed by the thought of how easily it could have gone through Sara's delicate skin, how the blood pouring across the floor could have been hers.

He turned back to see Sara, just in time to watch her slam her palms against the grated window at the end of the hallway.

Adam Trent was a murder suspect. He was evidence.

But the evidence wasn't as important as the woman at the other end of the hallway.

He turned and went after Sara.

* * *

Sara moved away from the window and leaned against the nearby wall, wrapping her arms around her waist in an attempt to keep from shaking. She didn't hear Grissom approaching, but for some reason she wasn't entirely surprised when he appeared at her side.

He wanted to take her into his arms, but he quickly shook that idea from his head, at least for now – her body language was screaming "Don't touch me." He leaned against the wall next to her and waited.

After a few minutes of silence, Sara said, "I'm okay." She let her arms fall to her sides.

"Okay," he repeated.

_Well, it's a good thing one of us is_, he thought, _because I'm not_.

"I hate this place," Sara said. He nodded. There was another long moment of silence.

"When my father died, my mother came to a place like this for a while for evaluation," Sara looked at him for a second, before making a face at the memory, "It looked the same, it smelled the same… it smelled like lies."

He knew there had been a reason for her initial reluctance to work this case. "You sure you're okay?"

"Crazy people do make me feel crazy," Sara answered, with a half-smile that told him she was attempting a joke. He knew she was trying to break the tension, but he didn't feel like returning the smile.

"If you want, I can have somebody take your place," Grissom said.

_And I wish you'd let me._

"I appreciate that. I do, I really do, but… I kind of made a decision to move beyond that, and… I really want to finish this case."

He was preparing an answer when they were interrupted by Nurse McKay, who had covered the length of the hallway in about three strides. "We have rules for a reason. You people come in here, disrupting things, you're unsafe. This is your fault," she spat.

"Really?" Grissom asked, incredulous – how in the world was this _their_ fault? He had turned to face her, deliberately placing himself in between Sara and the nurse, but Sara stepped to his side to confront her.

"You seem to take your job rather personally." Sara matched the anger in the nurse's voice.

"What are you suggesting?"

"That you had an intimate relationship with Adam Trent," Sara responded.

"That's ridiculous," Nurse McKay scoffed.

"Your lipstick is on his underwear."

"I gave Robbie my lipstick sometimes, maybe he was wearing it when the whole thing went…"

Grissom interrupted, shaking his head, "We didn't find any on his lips."

"Well, that's your problem," she replied before turning back to where the medical unit had Adam on a stretcher. She walked down the hall and turned her anger towards the medics, yelling, "What are you waiting for? Get him to the medical unit, stat!"

They watched from the end of the hall as Adam was wheeled away. Grissom sighed and glanced out the window. It was still raining. "Come on, let's go."

"Go?" Sara repeated, "What about…"

"No," he cut her off, "We're not going to get anything else done here, not after this."

Sara started to argue, but she stopped herself. He was right – she just didn't want to admit it.

"You're the supervisor," Sara said, giving him another half-smile.

* * *

They drove in silence. Grissom was grateful for the rain, and the dark, because it kept his focus on the road and not on Sara, who sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window.

He couldn't help but wonder if she blamed him. He certainly blamed himself.

Leaving her alone in that room – that wasn't the worst of it. The worst of it was that he hadn't even thought about it. And that was the way he'd been with Sara. He had never deliberately hurt her, not really, but he had done it just the same.

He had spent the past few months trying to make up for it, trying to say "I'm sorry," for everything he had done in the past and would probably do in the future. He just never thought that would include leaving her alone to be assaulted by a mental patient.

He was silent under the weight of his guilt, all the way back to the lab.

* * *

They went through the motions of logging the evidence they'd collected that day – the cigarette, the underwear, Adam's blood spattered shirt.

"We're missing the photo," Sara blurted. "I didn't… I didn't collect the photo of Adam that was in the nurse's station."

It took Grissom a minute to register Sara's words, partly because the fact that she'd spoken at all startled him.

"And the paperweight – I didn't get the paperweight. I didn't get _anything_ from the nurse's station."

"Sara…"

"No, Grissom, this could be important, this could be…"

Her hands were shaking. _She_ was shaking.

"Sara." He called her name again, and she looked up at him, tears gathering at the edges of her eyes.

"We might have missed evidence because of me," she said, "It is important, it's…"

"Sara, stop," he cut her off. "This was not your fault."

She shook her head, not daring to answer. She was sure if she opened her mouth again, she wouldn't be able to stop her tears from falling. Her knees were suddenly weak, and she braced herself against the layout table.

Grissom gathered up the last of the evidence and locked it away, signing his name to the seal. He took Sara's shaking hand from the table, "Come on," he said quietly, "Let's go home."

Sara was quiet all the way back to her apartment. She held her hands clasped in her lap, almost as if she were trying to hold them still. Grissom walked her up the stairs, and followed her into the dark apartment. After she turned on a few lights, Sara turned back to him.

"I'm okay, really."

She sounded more like she was trying to convince herself.

"Okay," he said, trying not to look at the red welt on her neck.

"I'm always… better during a crisis than afterwards," Sara admitted sheepishly. "I guess it just sort of hit me."

He nodded. He felt awkward, standing in the middle of Sara's living room. He'd grown comfortable in that room over the past few months, but for some reason now he felt as if he'd just walked in for the first time. He wanted to give Sara a hug, but for some reason he couldn't move towards her.

"I'll be fine," Sara said, sitting down on one of the chairs in the living room. "Really. You don't have to stay."

_What if I want to stay? What if I don't ever want to leave you alone again?_

"All right," he agreed, "I'll pick you up tomorrow."

Sara nodded, but she wasn't looking at him. Grissom reluctantly turned towards the door. He paused for a moment, his hand on the knob, wondering if he should – if he could – say something more, something to comfort her.

"Gil," Sara said, and he turned, startled. She had never called him by his first name before. She was looking up at him, now, her eyes pleading with him. He let go of the doorknob, walked back across the room and knelt in front of her. He never pictured himself doing something like this, but now – he felt as if he was asking for forgiveness, and it felt like the only thing he could do.

_Forgive me, Sara. Forgive me for leaving you alone._

_Forgive me for everything._

Sara reached down and took his hands, holding them in hers. "Do you have to go?" She asked. He shook his head.

"You don't need to stay," she repeated, sounding as if she didn't believe it, "But would you?"


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: They're still not mine... same as before. But to their owners, TPTB, I have to say... thank you!

A/N: So this is the last chapter, everyone! I hope it was worth the wait.

As always, thanks so much to wobbear for being a wonderfully patient beta reader. This story would be not even half of what it is without your help, and I would have gone crazy months ago.

Also, thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed. I hope you all enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

(And a note: If you don't know what happens at the end of 9x10, you may want to skip the epilogue...)

* * *

"_And when I really get to know you  
__We'll open up the doors and climb into the dawn  
__Confess your passion, your secret fear  
__Prepare to meet the challenge of the new frontier…"  
_"_New Frontier," Donald Fagen_

Chapter 11

After he had agreed to stay, Grissom turned on the light in Sara's kitchen and filled the kettle to make tea. He wasn't sure why, but he knew that Sara liked tea, and it just seemed like the thing to do.

He needed to do something.

He set the kettle on the stove and then got two mugs out of a cabinet and put them on the counter, carefully placing teabags inside . He leaned against the counter, staring blankly past the kettle as he waited for the water.

After a few minutes of this Sara called from her chair in the living room. "Grissom, you're making me nervous."

"I am? I'm sorry, I just…"

"No, I mean… I've just never seen you like this."

"Like what?"

"So … distracted. You know you're trying to boil water in the kettle without turning on the stove?"

"Oh." Grissom felt rather embarrassed as he reached over to switch the burner on. Taking a deep breath, he came to sit down by Sara.

"Sorry." He hesitated, then admitted, "maybe I'm a little more affected than I thought, too."

Sara remembered the fear she had seen in his eyes from her place on the floor. There was a long moment of silence.

"Grissom, I…"

The kettle on the stove started whistling, and Grissom started slightly.

"There's the kettle," he said, jumping up, and Sara sighed at the interruption. She watched as he carefully poured hot water into the mugs. He let them sit on the counter to steep and returned to Sara.

"Yes?"

"I don't know." Sara shook her head. "I forgot, I guess."

There was another long silence, which lasted until Grissom got up bring the two mugs to the living room. Then, still at a loss for words, they sipped carefully at the hot tea.

Sara breathed in the steam as she drank, and she felt something loosening within her body.

A sob escaped before she could stop it, and before she knew it Grissom had taken the mug from her hand and had wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. For some reason that only made her cry harder, but she leaned heavily into his embrace. She needed to feel him, needed someone to hold her, someone who wasn't trying to hurt her. If he held her long enough, maybe he could ease the memory of Adam Trent's arms tight around her shoulders.

"Oh, Sara," he breathed into her hair as his desire to be gentle warred with his desire to hold her as tightly as possible. She rested her head against his shoulder.

"I'm okay," Sara whispered through her tears, "just… don't let go, okay?"

"I won't," he whispered back, not sure of his own voice. If it hadn't been for him, Sara wouldn't be in this position, trembling and sobbing in his arms. He wanted to apologize, and keep apologizing, until Sara stopped crying.

He always found himself at a loss when Sara cried. It pulled at his heart like nothing else. He remembered the first time she had cried in front of him – when she told him about Pamela Adler, how she would never recover, how frustrated she was with a system that rewarded Pamela's rapist for not succeeding in killing his victim.

He hadn't known what to say back then, either. He knew, even at the time, that his feelings for Sara went far deeper than he was prepared to deal with.

Grissom still had no idea what to say, or how to say it. He could only pull her closer.

Sara's tears slowed to sniffles, but she stayed in his arms, timing her breaths with his as she gradually clamed down. She had no idea how long they stayed in that position, but in time she felt strong enough – safe enough – to pull away. Grissom gave her a concerned look when she met his eyes.

"I have a request," Sara said, slowly. She paused, then asked the question, "Would you… sleep with me?"

His eyebrows rose in shock, and Sara rushed on, trying to explain. "You've slept here before."

"On the couch."

"Yeah… this time I'd I'm asking you to sleep with me, in my bed. I just… I'm tired, Gil, I am really tired, but I don't want to be alone."

He nodded, understanding, and Sara smiled tiredly, relieved. "Okay, I'm going to take a shower," she said, "I really need a shower. And you… you know where my room is."

Again he nodded, and Sara headed to the bathroom while he rinsed the mugs and put them in the sink.

* * *

Sara turned the water up as hot as she could and scrubbed herself red, trying to erase every trace of Adam Trent from her body. When she stepped out and looked in the mirror, though, she could see a faint bruise on her arm from where his fingers had dug deep into her skin, and the mark on her neck that had turned from an angry red welt to a black and blue bruise.

_Great_, she thought, _I'm stuck with him until the bruises fade_. _But it could be so much worse. I'm still here, and a bad memory and these marks are all he left with me_.

She pulled on her pajamas – making sure the sleeve covered the bruises on her arm – and went into the bedroom, where Grissom was sitting on the end of the bed, still wearing his jacket and pants.

"You plan on sleeping in your clothes?" she asked, half teasing.

"Uh--um," he stammered, "I don't have anything with me."

"Sorry, I don't have anything in your size. I didn't think of that."

His eyes rested on her neck again – the bruise she couldn't cover with her clothes – and her hand went to conceal it.

"Don't," she said, and he shook his head.

"Sorry," he apologized again, "I… I guess I'll take a shower, too."

"There are clean towels in the closet next to the door," Sara said. "Let me know if you need anything."

When he returned a few minutes later, he was wearing only his t-shirt and boxer shorts. He hesitated for a moment before climbing into bed beside her, and once she had turned off the nightstand he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. Sara sighed and snuggled into his embrace, resting her head on his chest. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, at least not easily. Sara didn't seem to be blaming him, and he couldn't for the life of him understand why.

"Gil?" Sara asked, and he realized just how much he liked hearing her use his first name. He hoped it would become a habit.

"Yeah?"

"Stop thinking and go to sleep," she murmured.

* * *

_Adam__ Trent was back, and he had her in a tighter grip this time. But this time, there was no one around. This time he had her – and he pressed the shard deeper into her skin and – _

Sara jerked awake, breathing hard, and startled Grissom as she jumped – he had been drifting, half-asleep, and Sara's sudden movement jolted him back into awareness.

"Sara?"

Sara didn't answer right away. She pressed her hand to her chest, trying to calm her breathing and pulse.

"Hey," he said again, trying to get a better look at her in the dark, "you okay?"

"Yeah." Sara took in a deep breath. "Just a bad dream."

She settled back into his arms, trying to shake the creepy crawly sensation of the she'd had to so many times before. AT least tonight she wasn't alone, and there was so much comfort in that.

"Did I tell you I'm glad you're here?"

"No," he said, his voice echoing into the darkness, "but I'm glad I'm here, too."

Sara sighed. "Were you asleep?"

"Not really. But you were."

"Yeah, I was…. I'm awake now, though," she said, "wide awake."

"Maybe if we talk for a while, you'll fall back to sleep."

"You don't usually bore me that much," Sara teased.

"I'm glad to hear that, but the truth is I've caught a few students sleeping in my classes over the years."

Sara could hear the smile in his voice. "I find that hard to imagine." She'd heard a few students complaining about his seminars, but she, for one, found them fascinating.

"You were a good student. But that was a long time ago."

He sounded wistful, as if longing for something lost, and Sara frowned.

"I still have a lot to learn," she said, but she could feel him shake his head ever so slightly.

"We all do. But… you've always been more than a student to me."

Sara noted his echo of her own words. "Nothing is ever simple with us, is it?"

Grissom chuckled as he said, "That, my dear, is an understatement."

_My dear_. Sara's heart swelled at the endearment.

"Sara?"

"Yeah?"

"I wanted to tell you… I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For… for leaving you."

"When?" Sara sounded bewildered.

"Tonight," he said, amazed at her puzzlement. "I left you alone."

Sara put her finger on Grissom's lips to silence him as she said, "It's not your fault they let patients wander the halls unsupervised in that place."

"I should have known better than to leave you."

"Grissom…"

"No," he interrupted, "it was thoughtless, and careless. It would be the same if I'd left anyone alone. And another thing," he continued before Sara had a chance to respond, "maybe you could stop calling me Grissom."

"Huh?" Sara sounded even more confused.

"You called me Gil before."

Sara almost had to laugh. This conversation was taking some very odd twists. "I did," she agreed. "But I've called you Grissom for years. It's a habit."

"I know, but…"

"_Gil_," Sara emphasized his name, "it wasn't your fault. Honestly. I'm not blaming you."

"Maybe you're not." He sighed.

"Stop it." Sara scolded, tapping his hand with hers.

There was a silence so long that Sara thought Grissom might have fallen asleep, until he startled her by speaking again.

"I am sorry, Sara."

"Hey." Sara raised herself up on her arm. "I told you to stop it, and I meant it. I mean… I was scared. I still am scared. But I will be okay."

He gave Sara a gentle tug, and she lay down again.

"Now if you weren't here," Sara continued, murmuring against the soft fabric of his t-shirt, "I'd just have cried everything out and then had nightmares without anyone to hold me afterwards. This is so much better."

Grissom pulled her closer, and Sara could feel him relaxing.

* * *

"Will your bugs be okay, with you being gone?" Sara's voice surprised him – he thought she'd dozed off again.

"Oh, sure," he replied, bemused by the question. "They're pretty self-sufficient, you know. I just put some food in the terrarium and they don't need to be fed for a few more days."

"Low maintenance pets. Good for workaholics," Sara joked.

"Very funny. But most of my bugs are in my office."

"Oh."

"I fed them before we left the lab."

"I should have known. So do you still race your cockroaches at entomology conventions?"

He sighed, rueful. "Not since that convention where I lost to an agricultural entomologist from the University of Iowa. That was the final straw. My guys are retired now."

Sara laughed."Have you ever had any non-insect pets?"

"No," he said. "My mother was allergic to everything with fur. I wanted a horse, though."

"A horse?"

"I saw one too many westerns. I would have liked a dog, too."

"All those boy-and-his-dog movies?" Sara asked.

"Something like that."

"I always wanted a dog, too."

"Hmmm," he nodded, stroking Sara's hair, idly imagining bringing a puppy home to her and watching her face light up. _What a nice idea._

"When did you decide to become an entomologist?" Sara asked.

"Oh, not right away… I was at least eight."

The sound of Sara's laugh echoed through the room, and he was thankful he'd corrected his otosclerosis before it was too late. Life would be missing something without Sara's laugh.

"And before that?" she asked.

"I wanted to be a cowboy, of course."

"I can see that," Sara said."You, the lone cowboy roaming the plains, checking out the various insect species on the cows…" She dissolved into giggles, which gave Grissom the urge to tickle her. He loved the rare occasions when he got to see giggly Sara. She hid the sillier side of her personality from general view so he felt privileged when she revealed it to him.

"There are some very interesting species that live around cows, you know. _Scarabaeus Aphodius_…"

"And that would be?"

"Dung beetle."

Sara laughed again.

"A lone cowboy?" he asked.

"Sure." Sara nestled her head under his chin. "Isn't that the way cowboys are?"

"I suppose," he acknowledged, feeling a little sad – was this the way Sara really saw him? Had nothing changed in the past few months? He didn't want to be alone anymore. That was why he was here, pulling her even closer, trying to forget the fact that he had almost lost her – for ever – this very evening.

"What?" He could hear the frown in Sara's voice.

"I… don't know. Why do you think I'd have to be alone?"

"Because you like it that way?"

"I do?"

"Are we just going to keep answering each other with questions?" Sara raised her head from his shoulder. "Because we could go on like this all night."

"Sara…" he stopped. He wasn't quite sure how to convey his feelings to her, but he was also concerned that she hadn't picked up on the signals he'd been trying to send. He wondered if he really was too late.

"What?" Sara asked again. "I'm not letting you off the hook this time, Gil. Tell me."

"I'd want you to be there."

"What?"

"I'd want you to be there, Sara."

"Oh." the realization was dawning. "You would?"

Sara laid her head back down. She waited a long time before speaking again.

"Would I… be worth the risk?" Her quiet query was nearly lost in the darkness.

"Of course," he said. Grissom's confidence was in stark contrast to Sara's timid, tentative words.

"What changed your mind?"

"What? What do you mean?"

"I heard you." She was whispering, and he could feel the tension in her body, how she held herself perfectly still against him, waiting for an answer.

"You heard me… oh." It took a moment for him to remember his interrogation of Dr. Lurie – it felt almost like another man had made that confession, in a different life. The man who had said he couldn't do it had never held Sara in his arms, had never tasted her lips or heard her voice in the dark. That man had never seen Sara struggling against Adam Trent or held her hand while she cried or taken her home when she needed him.

The man who couldn't take that risk had slowly begun to disappear the minute the words had left his mouth. Yet Sara had heard those words, and only those words – no wonder she was uncertain. He couldn't blame her.

"What changed your mind?" she asked again.

"Truthfully?"

"Yes."

"I realized… that everything I worked for could be taken away regardless of what risks I took," he said, "and I wanted to rebuild our friendship, but…"

"But?"

"It … it wasn't enough."

Sara's sharp intake of breath startled him, especially when it was followed by a sniffle.

"Sara?"

"No, it's good," her voice wavering, "it's really good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Sara rested her hand on Grissom's chest so she could feel the steady beat of his heart and nestled deeper into his embrace.

* * *

"Are you asleep yet?" Sara asked.

"Not yet," he replied. "I guess you're not either."

"No. Usually at this point I'd get up and do something, but…"

"But?"

"I'm quite comfortable right where I am," Sara said, and he chuckled lightly.

"Well, then, by all means, stay right here."

Sara rolled over to look at him, but it was too dark to see anything but shadows.

"What?" he asked.

"It's dark in here," Sara reached over to the nightstand and fumbled for her reading lamp. Her fingers landed on the switch and the light illuminated Grissom's face, his worried eyes looking up at her.

"You sleep with the lights on?"

"Usually it's still light when I'm trying to sleep," Sara reminded him. She hadn't shifted her position – she was still looking down at him, and when her eyes met his, there was an energy there he hadn't expected.

"Why did you turn it on, then?"

"I wanted to see you," Sara replied.

"Oh."

His face was still etched with concern, and it was starting to get on Sara's nerves. She wanted to forget what had happened. She wanted him to stop blaming himself. She wanted to show him – somehow – that Adam Trent had scared her and left a few bruises, but it was nothing that wouldn't heal. What she needed was exactly what he was doing.

She decided to kiss him – and when he met her lips softly, gently, she deepened the kiss, pushing him back against the pillow, until he broke away in surprise.

"Sara?" His brow furrowed and his lips pursed in a frown, and he drew a sharp breath.

"What?"

"What are you doing?"

"Isn't it obvious?" As Sara moved to kiss Grissom again, he stopped her.

"Are you sure? I mean, you…"

"Yes." Sara looked into his eyes, which darkened at the sound of her voice.

And now it was his turn to kiss her, a hungry, urgent kiss that she met with equal force. He slipped his free hand under her pajama top to gently cup her breast, too gently for Sara. She pulled away just long enough to pull her top off, leaving him staring – slightly dumbfounded – at her bare chest.

"Dear God, Sara," he whispered, taking in the sight for a moment before pulling her back to kiss her. He worked his way down from her mouth to her neck, finally taking one nipple in his mouth, which surprised Sara enough to make her cry out. For so many years she had fantasized about exactly this moment. Kissing him for the first time had sent her reeling, but this, this was almost too much.

She could feel him growing hard through the thin layers of clothing separating them. She reached down to stroke him through his boxers, and he groaned in response before reluctantly capturing her hand in his.

"Wait, Sara." His voice was ragged. "I don't… I'm not… prepared."

Sara leaned over him to reach into the nightstand drawer, giving him an even better view of her chest, and she could hear his sharp intake of breath. She fished around in the drawer for a moment before she found a foil envelope. She held it up to the light.

"There's a year left on it, we're good."

"You checked the expiration date?" He sounded as if he were trying not to laugh.

"They're kind of old…" Sara began, but she was interrupted when he pulled her closer, and whatever she had planned to say after that was gone as his mouth claimed hers in an eager kiss.

"I'm glad," he mumbled against her lips, and Sara felt a giddy laugh rise out of her throat and escape before she could stop it. He pulled back and smiled, but there was an uncertainty in his eyes.

"Sorry," Sara said, "I'm just… nervous."

He nodded slowly, in apparent agreement, and he reached up to brush her hair back from her face.

"Do you want to do this?" Sara asked, biting her lip. His body did, she could feel that, but she wanted him to say so.

"Yes." The certainty in his voice, low and pure, sent a shiver through her. She would have responded, wanted to respond, but he was bringing his lips back to hers before she could get the words out, and whatever she had planned to say was gone as he kissed her again.

In all those years of imagining sex with Grissom, Sara's fantasies had run the gamut of possibilities – from loud, screaming her name along with a stream of fevered obscenities, to gentle, romantic and sweet. Strangely, she hadn't imagined that he would be in bed much like he was in everything else – focused. His eyes seemed to take in every freckle on her skin, and he was maddeningly deliberate, measuring each movement carefully. He hesitated only once – when he entered her, his eyes closed and he drew in a shuddering breath before looking down at her.

"Okay?"

"Yeah," Sara gasped, feeling herself stretch to accommodate him, a moment of pain quickly replaced by pleasure as he moved slowly within her. His eyes were roaming her body with a gaze so heated that Sara had to close her eyes. As much as she wanted this to last, she knew she couldn't. Arousal was coursing through her, overwhelming thought; soon he quickened his pace and she was lost, crashing over the edge.

"God, Sara," he gasped. Incoherent mumbles followed as his careful thrusts became jagged and sloppy , then slowed to a stop. As he lay down next to her, panting, she laid a hand on his chest just to feel the rise and fall.

"Gil?" she whispered after he hadn't moved for a few minutes.

"Yeah?" he asked, still sounding slightly breathless.

"I don't know," Sara said, after a long pause, "I think I should say something, but I don't know what."

"I know how you feel."

* * *

She gave Grissom the first chance at the bathroom, and when she returned he was curled up in bed, eyes closed. She thought he was already asleep, but he pulled her close the moment she slid in next to him.

"I missed you," he murmured.

"I was gone for two minutes," Sara teased, but she was happy.

"Two minutes too long." I may never let you out of my sight again."

"That might be a little difficult," Sara said.

"I'll figure something out."

"Gil," Sara began, but he stopped her.

"Sara," his voice cracked slightly, but he continued, , I almost lost you tonight." She fought the urge to say something reassuring; she didn't want to interrupt him. This was too important.

"And I'm… glad you asked me to stay. I'm just… you're here, and you're okay, and you're Sara, and…"

He wasn't making much sense, but there was an emotion in his voice that she had never heard before. A sob caught in her throat, and she nuzzled her head against his chest, trying hard not to cry.

"Sara?" His hand gently began to stroke her back, and the concern was back in his voice.

"No, I'm good," she said. "Really."

"Oh." He breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought I'd said something wrong."

"No." Sara shook her head. "Oh, no. You said everything right."

He pulled her as close as he could, and she snuggled into his embrace.

After a few moments Grissom spoke again. "Sara?" He had finally realized what he had been trying to say. _I love you_, he thought, _more than anything_.

But she was already asleep.

* * *

When Sara awoke the next morning to an empty bed, panic rose and caught in her throat – until she heard the sound of someone moving around in the other room, the sound of pans and dishes. As she threw back the covers a waft of sweat and sex made her smile.

_I could get used to this_, she thought, before poking her head out of the bedroom to find Grissom, who was already showered and dressed, humming to himself as he puttered around the kitchen.

"Good morning," she said, and he looked up and smiled.

"Hey," he replied, "I was going to let you sleep a few minutes longer. Breakfast isn't quite ready yet."

"I woke up," Sara pulled up a seat at the counter. "Smells good."

"It's just scrambled eggs," he said apologetically, "but I wanted to make something… do you have any pepper?"

"Yeah, it's over there," Sara pointed. "You're already dressed."

"Mmm." He turned away to grab the shaker. "I wanted to get back to Desert State early today, to talk to the art therapist."

"Oh," Sara said, "Well, let me get dressed, then." She started to slip off of the stool.

"No." He sounded so serious, she stopped in mid-slide.

"What do you mean, no?"

He took his time answering, waiting until he'd removed the pan from the heat and served the eggs on to the waiting plates. He bit his lip before looking up at her.

"You're not going."

"What? Grissom, I told you, I…"

"You're not off the case," he interrupted, "but you're not going back to the hospital."

"Why?"

"Because I can't risk it, Sara."

Sara narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you speaking as my supervisor, or as the guy who slept with me last night?"

He flinched at her harsh tone. "Sara, that's not fair," he said, defensive. "Right now I am speaking as your supervisor. You're still on the case, but you are not going back there. I'm sorry, but that's my decision."

Every instinct in Sara told her to argue, but she stopped. He was in a difficult position, and she knew that there would have to be a line, somewhere. He was still her supervisor at work, and she would have to respect that if they were to preserve their personal relationship.

"All right," she agreed. "I'll stay in the lab for the rest of this case. Now, please, take your supervisor hat off when you're in my kitchen."

"Gladly." He sighed in relief, then smiled hopefully at her. "Are you hungry?"

* * *

After Grissom left for Desert State, Sara took a few hours to herself before heading to work. By the time she got there, Grissom was already back at the lab with new evidence. Sara noticed he had a definite spring in his step, although she wasn't sure if it came from his new theory or from the night before.

"I spoke to the art therapist. He showed me Robbie's unfinished work – a clay pot. The weapon he used was one of the handles. Anyhow, he mentioned that Robbie never finished it because Nurse McKay came in. I took one look at the pot and thought – acoustic archeology."

"Acoustic archeology?"

"In the sixties," he explained as they headed towards the A/V lab, "experiments were done on clay pots and painted canvas. Scientists were able to ferret out the sounds captured during the creative process in the clay and the paint."

"Trippy," Sara replied as they reached Sofia, who had the pot already perched on a turntable.

"It's actually not that out there," Sofia remarked before explaining how sound could be captured in clay. Sara felt a little like rolling her eyes. She already had a good idea exactly how this worked.

"When the art therapist told me there'd been an argument when Adam was on the wheel, I thought 'well, maybe we can pull some sound off his pot.'" Grissom finished.

"Doppler laser, optical transducer," Sara noted as Sofia flipped the laser on, shining a red light on the grooves in the clay.

"We've come a long way," Sofia commented.

"Baby," Grissom quipped, looking over at Sara, who hid her instinctive smile by frowning and turning away. She made a mental note to tell him – at some point – never to call her baby, especially not in the middle of the lab.

Sofia played with the signal for a bit, but it was hard to dig anything out of the garbled sound. Sara could hear "Robbie," but after some more tweaking and processing, another word jumped out at her.

"Angel."

"In her letters," Grissom noted, realization lighting up his face, "Adam's mother called him 'angel.'"

"Nurse McKay is Adam's mother?" Sofia asked, and Grissom tilted his head.

"Looks that way," he said. "Why don't we get Brass to bring her in for questioning? You can handle the interrogation."

* * *

Joanna McKay didn't exactly crumble under interrogation, although she admitted to the incest. "You have no idea what goes on between us," she said.

It wasn't that hard to figure out. She was jealous, and she wanted Adam to end his relationship with Robbie.

"But he didn't end it, did he?" Sara asked. "Robbie was lover's leverage. It was that thing Adam could put in his back pocket and pull out whenever he needed to distance himself from you."

She had made sure Robbie would go to seclusion, and once he was back in his room, she smothered him. Adam bashing his head in later was just a cover up.

"Why would my son do that?" she asked.

"Because he loves you as much as he hates you," Sara replied.

"You can't prove any of this." The nurse was on the verge of tears. Sara shook her head. The only thing they really could prove, as Brass pointed out, was the incest, even though Adam wouldn't be much of a witness. Sara had enough of the woman, and decided it was time to get out of the room before she said something she would regret.

McKay had so damaged her own son – she had manipulated him until he didn't know which end was up. As much as Sara hated Adam Trent for what he had done to her, she could relate to him. She knew what it was like to have a parent who twisted you around so badly.

Grissom was standing just outside the interrogation room, observing through the one-way mirror. He glanced over at Sara as she came to stand next to him, watching as Brass and a uniform prepared to make the arrest.

"Well, jail or no jail, I don't think she'll last six months. She'll die without her son," Grissom said.

"That would be better for both of them," Sara replied, trying to ignore the look he gave her. He left the observation room, and she watched, trying to fight back her own tears, until Brass brought Joanna McKay out of the interrogation room.

Sara took a deep breath before walking out of the dark halls of the police department into the blazing sunlight of a Las Vegas afternoon. The light blinded her for a moment, and when her eyes adjusted, she saw Grissom, leaning against the side of a Denali. His hands were tucked into his pockets, and he was looking at her, waiting for her.

"You okay?" he asked.

She thought for a moment. The case was over. She had stayed with it through to the end, despite everything that had happened. Joanna McKay was in custody, her fate in the hands of a jury. Adam Trent was never going to get out of Desert State, which was a comforting thought as long as she never had to go near the place again. Under the circumstances, it was the best outcome she could hope for.

Yet she had gained something else from this case, something far more important. The man standing in front of her had opened himself to her, and she to him, in a way that promised so much more to come.

"Yeah," she replied, "I am."

He returned her smile. They stood for a moment, holding each other's gaze. The case was behind them, and there was so much to look forward to.

"You sure?" He asked, his eyebrows knitting into a concerned frown. Sara nodded.

"Yes. And I'm glad it's over. Now we can move on to more important things."

"Such as?" He raised one eyebrow.

Sara's answer was a smile.

* * *

Epilogue

"_Things just won't do without you – matter of fact…"  
-__ "Walking After You," Foo Fighters_

"Two years?"

"Huh?" Sara was confused at that question. She thought for a second that Grissom was talking to the dog. His eyes were trained on the panting boxer, who was wagging his tail in excitement at the leash held in Grissom's hand. They'd spent the better part of the afternoon at the go-kart track, and afterwards the entire team had gone out for dinner. Sara knew the dinner was partly to celebrate the fact that she was still with them after her ordeal with Natalie, but she'd had a hard time enjoying it. By the time they returned home, her arm was hurting again, and she was exhausted from trying to pretend nothing had changed.

"You told Ecklie two years," he repeated. "Where did you get that from?"

"Oh." Sara remembered their conversation in the car. They hadn't had much time to talk, but Grissom had briefly mentioned his meeting with Ecklie regarding their relationship.

"I told you where I got nine years from," Grissom prodded, responding to Hank's insistent whine with a quick pat on the head.

Sara sighed as she toed her shoes off and put her feet up on the couch. She wasn't really in a talking mood.

"Do you know where my pain pills are?" Grissom nodded, setting the leash on the coffee table before going to retrieve them. Hank whined again and nosed the leash towards Sara.

"No," she scolded softly, "your Dad is going to take you for a walk in a few minutes."

"So?" Grissom asked again, after he had given her the pills and a glass of water.

"You remember," she said, then stopped. She had told Ecklie two years; punctuating it with "I think it was a Sunday," just to make him even more uncomfortable. She had been in that sort of a mood.

Their first kiss had been on a Sunday night, her night off - and his as well, once she'd convinced him to call in sick. That counted as intimate, didn't it? There had been a few other memorable Sundays off between then and now, as well, but she really wasn't sure which of those Sundays she'd been referring to.

"I do?"

"Well, it was two years ago you started showing up at my apartment every night," she reminded him, "Two years ago when you first kissed me, two years ago when we made love for the first time…"

"Ah, I get it," he interrupted. "Now I remember."

"Well, yeah," Sara said, "But you told him nine years?"

"Of course," he said. "I knew I loved you from the moment I first saw you."

Sara felt herself softening, but she tried to hide it. "So why didn't you show up on my doorstep until two years ago?"

He thought for a few moments, before sighing. "It took a long time for me to be honest with myself. And with you, as well. I'm so glad you gave me another chance."

Sara smiled and bit her lip. She loved it when he started to get romantic, but today she was afraid it would make her cry, and she'd done enough of that lately. She looked at Hank, whose whines were growing more insistent.

"You better take him out," she said, and Grissom, agreeing, clipped the leash to the dog's collar.

"Come on, Hank. Let's go take our walk. I'll take you by that house with the cute poodle."

Sara laughed. "You know he pulls at the leash when you go over there… if you lose our dog, I'm leaving."

She was kidding, but he pursed his lips at her to tell her he didn't really approve of the joke.

"My dear," he said, leaning over her and planting a soft kiss on her forehead, "if you ever do, I'll just have to follow you."

But when the unthinkable happened, a few months later, he didn't, not at first. It took a while, but in the end, when it _really_ mattered, he kept his word.

"_If you walk out on me…  
__I'm walking after you."_


End file.
